Black Butler III
by Eternal Blaze Fanfictions
Summary: A new power has overtaken the underworld, eradicating anything and anyone in their path. Four victims of this group of otherworldly beings join as one to bring down this organization and receive vengeance. Old acquaintances are convened, secrets are unearthed, and fear is triumphed as good and evil join forces to once again bring London out of the shadows and into the light.
1. Chapter 1: Memory

_A/N: I'd first off like to say, thank you for visiting my story! This is just a fun thing my friends and I have been working on for a few months, and they forced me to post it on FanFiction. So please, just take the chance and at least read this chapter? Pwease?_

_The second thing I'd like to say is that this is a really slow moving story. It will be incredibly long (considering it's an entire third season fit into one story) so exciting things will not happen in the very first chapter. All of the previous characters in the Kuroshitsuji series (Ciel, Sebastian, ALois, Claude, Grell, etc.) will be included and/or mentioned. So don't think this is entirely OC's!  
_

_Yes, there will be yaoi (between whom I cannot say) but don't feel like this is going to be lame because it starts off with a female character! There are plenty of new, lovable (and sometimes hate-able) characters to discover, so don't just stop at the very beginning!  
_

_Lastly, this_ will _be a realistic story in terms of historical occurrences and culture, so there will at least be some interesting facts and what-not! (I did more research for this than I do for my schoolwork) many aspects of the Kuroshitsuji world will be kept intact, so little should be out of place (other than the things I make up in order for this to work.)  
_

_So, without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter of my FanFiction, Black Butler III.  
_

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Black Butler III

Chapter 1: Memory

Victoria Westchester, nine years old, was born in Birmingham England. She often traveled all across Europe – whether it for pleasure or family business. Her father was a count, but it always eluded others in the noble society as to why. The Westchesters always appeared to simply be a ludicrously rich household, but their location was unknown of. Of all the estates across England, not one was in the name of Westchester. Victoria, however, knew exactly why they were labeled as nobles.

Daniel, Count of Westchester, was a judge for the court. Unlike most judges who look over trivial robberies, financial disputes, and murders, Victoria's father was one who reviewed serious homicide cases and kidnappings that were undercover from the public ears. There are always two who are in the shadow of the throne, working for Queen Victoria to keep England's underworld in control. The Westchesters and the Phantomhives always kept in touch for these reasons. Both are very close to the Queen due to these circumstances, and each other for that matter. Over the years they might have become more distant, but the earl and count of both households always contacted each other anyway.

Daniel never revealed any information of the underworld to either Victoria or Alice, his wife, but did, however, discuss issues with his eldest child, Lucas. Lucas at the time was seventeen and had begun learning about judging so that he, too, could eventually take on the family name and be the next Eagle to the throne. Even so, mischievous little Victoria would sometimes put her ear against the door of the recreation room, listening in on her father and brother's conversations.

She heard her father say between huffs on his cigarette to Lucas, "The guard dogs catch the culprit, we overlook the case. It takes two to keep the peace in England, two to be in the darkness of the throne's shadow so that the Queen may be in the light. Remember that, Lucas."

The rest was unheard because her mother called her to help her with dinner. True, nobles were never to make their own food – nonetheless know where their kitchen was located in their estate – however, the Westchesters, unlike the Phantomhives, lived low. They owned no estate, they ran no companies. Their wealth was made by Daniel's judging – he was paid large amounts of money with every case, though there may be few – but they did not live in a fancy estate or a large mansion. No, they lived in a small house in a low-end neighborhood. They had minimal rooms, did their own chores, and ran everything themselves.

Just weeks before Victoria's birthday, Daniel was to go to America to evaluate a case where the captive was held in Pennsylvania. Victoria was very reluctant to let her father be gone for her tenth birthday. Having loved his daughter and the rest of his family very much, Daniel allowed them to accompany him on his trip. The three of them were thrilled to be able to see the new country and experience the different culture. Victoria could hardly wait as their boat was pulling into the dock on a seaside city.

The four of them toured the great city, tasting the cuisine, watching magnificently portrayed plays in the finest theaters. The night before Daniel's trial, the night before Victoria's birthday, they attended an opera late in the evening. The show was wonderful and Victoria thoroughly enjoyed it, despite its extensive length. What came after, however, was what forever ended the young noble's happiness.

Victoria clung to her mother and brother's hands as they left the theater. The carriage was just a block down, so Daniel decided to take them through a shortcut. It was dark, but the streetlights illuminated most of the alleyway.

They were approached from behind – they had no way of anticipating the tall man that lifted the gun to them from behind. The cloaked figure gave no warning as he shot her father square in the chest. Mother whipped her head around, taking one second too long to register what happened. An ear-piercing screech escaped her lips just before she was impaled twice – once in the chest and shoulder. Alice fell to the ground next to her husband, instantly dead.

Victoria was in a pure state of shock, unable to move, or even breath, as her parents were killed in a matter of mere seconds. She stared at the man's covered face, which was then blocked from her view by the pistol's barrel directed at her head. Her eyelids slackened and a tear ran down her face as she awaited the bullet to pass through her. As the loud bang sounded, echoing off the alleyway she stood in, Victoria was surprised when she felt no pain. She forced her eyes open to a most disturbing scene.

In front of her was the blood stained back of her brother, his arms reached out to either side of him protectively. Victoria regained her ability to take in oxygen and she breathed intensely as Lucas stumbled to the stone path, a bullet deep in his abdomen. Tears ran uncontrollably down her ivory cheeks as she watched the man prepare to shoot again.

Victoria was certain she was next, she was sure she was to die, but the sound of a police siren resonated in the stale, winter night. He hesitated, considering the girl, before dropping his hand and running off. Victoria's eyes followed him until he disappeared, then she immediately dropped to her knees beside her brother. She turned him over, and he looked up at her, a pained expression in his eyes, red painting his white shirt, and light brown hair loosely sprawling over his soft face. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gently touched his hand.

"L-Lucas?" She asked in a quiet voice. He gave his sister a small smile

"Victoria." he hoarsely whispered, weaving his cold fingers with hers.

"Lucas… why?" she cried.

"Why wouldn't I? You're my favorite little sister; I love you more than life itself." He chuckled before coughing up blood, spraying it on his pale lips. He struggled to reach into his pocket, but managed and took out a silver heart locket. She watched as he placed it in her hand. "It was for you're birthday, but I'll give it to you now." She gazed at it through teary eyes and opened it to look inside. One half of it contained a picture of Lucas, while the other was blank. "That picture is of me. The other is for the man who will love you the second most." He coughed up more scarlet blood, brought his other hand to her nose, and pricked the tip of it with his finger like he always did before leaving the house. It was his way of saying goodbye. His skin left hers as his arm limply dropped to the ground, eyes hollow, smile sorrow.

Victoria sat silently for what seemed like hours for her, gazing at the three still figures spread out before her. Suddenly something clicked inside her as the siren grew louder. She knew she had to leave, had to escape before the police came and took her away. She had to find the man, she just had to. The girl wiped her tears away and shakily stood, abandoning her family to sprint down into the darkness.

Although she was only ten, she was seething with anger. Most young girls would be heartbroken, cradling their mothers and denying the fact that anything happened at all. But Victoria was different. She was sad, of course, but she wanted to kill the man, wanted him to kill her more than anything. Her family was dead, and she had nothing left to live for. She ran for several minutes, winding through numerous streets and dirt paths, but she still didn't stop, even when the city broke out into the woods. She wanted him dead. She wanted to die. She wanted revenge. She wanted to humiliate. She wanted to end it all. She wanted a lot of things, and Victoria wouldn't stop until she got them all.

Deep in the forest, through thick trees and roots, she finally tripped and fell to the dirt. Victoria lifted her exhausted body, only to fall again. She repeated this several times before she collapsed against the trunk of a pine, tears streaming unconsciously down her face as she clutched desperately at her knees, nails digging into the flesh.

"Help me," she screamed into the empty night "I don't care whom, just help me!"

She buried her face into her lap, ignoring the nearby howl. If some wolf were to make her its next meal, she would do nothing to stop it. She only cried, howling herself into the thick cloth of her dress.

"You called?" asked a voice. Victoria darted my head up to see a gleaming wolf with glowing pink eyes in front of her. She furrowed her eyebrows and stood, her purple dress falling around her quivering legs. "I have to say, you're quite a cutie. What are you doing summoning a demon, Sweetheart?" it said in a low, bittersweet voice. She groaned and swatted her hand out.

"I never summoned a bloody demon! What are talking about, you vile thing?" She yelled, disgusted that such an unholy being was speaking to her. It growled and it's pink eyes boar into her, sending shivers down her spine.

"I would be careful of how you talk to me, Sweetheart, because I could end your sorry little life without even giving it a second thought." She was slightly taken aback, but her pride kept her strong.

"I don't care what happens to me!" She sputtered at the creature before her.

"Oh you don't, now?" it replied.

"No," she sobbed, "I don't! Lucas…Lucas, and Mother and Father, all of them… They didn't deserve to die. I don't care what comes of me; I just want to avenge them! I want to make the one who killed them suffer just as much as I am suffering now!" she threw her arms behind her, struggling to stay on her feet.

The demonic wolf considered her before huffing out in laughter. "I see. You're just my type, Sweetheart. I'll tell you what – how about we form a contract?" it stepped forward, but Victoria didn't retreat. She was quite intrigued by the devil's words.

"What would the terms of this contract be?" she ceased her tears. An odd purring sounded from the animal as it took another step toward her.

"Here are the terms, My Lady. I will help you with your revenge, as well as follow your every order without exception. Now doesn't that sound nice?" it said teasingly. The young noble narrowed her hazel eyes and folded her arms.

"What are your services to be exchanged with?" she asked quietly.

"What a smart little lady you are. I will do all this for you, in exchange for something you no longer value, as I can see."

"What is it, demon?" she anxiously snapped.

"Your soul." He finished. She staggered back, and her breath caught in her throat. Of course, he was right, her empty soul was no longer of any value to her since her life was worthless without her family. Victoria would have nothing left to live for, nothing else to hold on to but revenge. She would be put in a girls' shelter, abused and treated poorly, she would be miserable if she rejected its offer. It was then that she decided.

"I accept the conditions of this covenant. I, Victoria, new Countess of Westchester, command you to help me kill the one who killed my parents and brother, and anyone else involved!" she ordered bravely, no longer afraid. She hadn't the heart or energy to care for her fate.

The wolf chuckled again and in the moonlight, she could faintly see it changing form. It grew taller, larger, more human-like, until it was a man in a jet-black butler's uniform. He had pale, messy, grayish-brown hair, glowing purple eyes, and black nails. He kneeled and placed a hand over his heart before her.

"Yes, My Lady," He said huskily, "Where do you prefer to have our symbol of agreement placed on your body?"

"It matters not where the proof of our contract is to me, so long as it is not obtrusive." She answered.

"But of course, My Lady." Suddenly, a circle with triangles and a pentagram appeared on the back of his hand, and a sharp pain shot to Victoria's right shoulder. She gripped it harshly but did not make a sound. She wouldn't show any pain, wouldn't show weakness. He smirked and looked up at the girl. "Now, Young Mistress, what shall my name be?" She gritted her teeth and looked blurrily into his face through her watery eyes, and he faintly resembled her beloved brother in the dim light. She then knew what to name him.

"You are from now on Lucas Marcellus. Do you understand?" Victoria said in a powerful voice. He got back onto his feet and bowed his head.

"I do, My Lady." He said. The countess felt a great relief and a burst of tiredness, and her knees buckled beneath her. She stumbled a little before Lucas leaped forward and caught her. He linked one arm under her knees and wrapped the other around her back. Her heavy eyelids forced their ways open again and she sleepily hit his chest.

"Don't touch me, you… you…" his smirking face went black as Victoria passed out.

. . .

Victoria, Countess of Westchester, was broken from the recollections of her painful past by an especially harsh jolt on the stone road. She peeled her forehead away from the spot on the window where it struck, turning so that she faced forward, all the while massaging the tender skin. "Lucas, why must we traverse over such a poorly made street?" she questioned the tall man clad in black across from her. He kept an unobstructed gaze on her frowning features, his messy hair falling in his face.

"I apologize for your disliking toward our route, My Lady, but I'm afraid it is the only way to our destination. Unless of course you want to travel an extra three hundred miles by taking a different course." He retorted, finding her angered reaction to be humorous, despite the punishment he will receive.

"Don't be sarcastic, Lucas," the young noble seethed, trying to move her hat back into place. "I'm just tired of this blasted trip." She yawned. Another rough bump in the road caused his mistress to be lifted slightly off her seat, then forced back down. She grunted and held tighter to the leather, wondering how such a poor coachman is accompanying her. Usually, one's butler would be the one in the box seat, but Lucas hasn't let Victoria out of his sight, other than bathing and changing, once throughout the entire three years - or almost three - they have been in a covenant. The girl has often complained about his reluctance to leave her side, but she allows it anyways. She, in fact, willingly gets close to him, just for the comfort of knowing that there's at least one person left in her life.

They've been in America since the incident, wandering several states and territories, seeking any information about her family's deaths. She hasn't a home, or much money – only the amount her parents took with them so – she and her butler have been staying at low quality inns for long periods of time, to conserve as many funds as she can, for her future trip back to London. There is a bank account in her family's name – however, her existence is unknown of throughout the world. The money has sat in a vault for years, waiting for someone to retrieve it.

Just a few months before, while she was reading the morning newspaper, she spotted an article that caught her interest. Normally, the female members of a wealthy household were not allowed to read the daily tabloid due to its violent and rather disturbing editorials that should not be exposed to the innocent eyes of any proper lady. However, Victoria has seen enough to not be bothered by the descriptions of murder and rape cases often printed.

What she read was the first thing to actually make her happy since before the traumatic event in her past. _"Boy's Entire Household Slaughtered", _was the headline. She read on, her eyes grazing past several informational facts about his family until she found what she was looking for. _"A queer bullet was used on the victims- it is unlike any other our researches have seen before. Made of pure titanium steel, this particular piece was thin and hollow. Dr. Bradbury- a guns and ammunitions expert- claims that it might have contained something that is no longer existing inside the shell. A unique design borders the bottom, and small spikes flow in every direction, curving upwards, as if to hook into the potential victim's flesh. Young Michael Angelus, child of the famous architect, Jonathon Angelus, is the single survivor. He is to become baron, which raised questions as to his innocence. Policemen have kept him captive at one of the jails, kept anonymous, in New York City until fur-" _

"Lucas," she snaps, throwing the paper onto her sheets as she darted her head in the direction of her butler, who was currently serving her morning tea that a hotel servant had brought in for them. "We are going to New York. I believe I have found a lead in my case."

After Lucas had seen Victoria to safety all those years ago, he returned to the crime scene on her command to collect any evidence that might have been of importance to her. The demon located the bullets easily, and gathered all three small metal pieces to show to his new mistress. "What are they?" her cold voice asked as he presented them to her.

"I'm not entirely certain, My Lady, but they appear to be a variety of ammunition that is not familiar to any _human _in this time." He emphasized, examining them as closely as the small girl. She looked up at him, hollow eyes narrowing.

"Are you saying it's another bloody demon?" she hissed, disgust in her wavering voice.

"I am not, My Lady. It could be another otherworldly creature, such as a nymph or angel." Lucas closed his fingers around the blood-covered bullets and retracted his hand, Victoria's eyes watching him warily.

"An angel would never do such a thing." She mumbled, remembering the nursery rhymes her mother would sing to her about angels. A chuckle was heard from above and the young countess's eyes flashed with anger as she met the devil's own.

"Oh, you would be surprised how many angels go bad, my dear, sweet, child." He said tauntingly. He still used the same tone with her today, despite her constant disapproval towards it. Just like when he teased her about their trip.

"I understand, My Lady," Lucas replied to her complaint. "Would you be more comfortable on the roof?" Victoria furrowed her eyebrows together at his comment, clenching her fists together.

"How the devil would that be more comfortable? Now stop saying such ridiculous things or you'll be the one riding on the roof." She spat. He smirked gently at her while she was looking away, reveling in her stubborn attitude. She raised her hand to her mouth, taking in a sharp breath of air and releasing it in a long yawn.

"Why don't you try to take a nap when we drive on a more relaxed road, My Lady? It is awfully late, passed your usual bedtime." Lucas advised, reaching forward to fix her hat, in which she was having trouble with earlier. Victoria didn't reject his actions, but kept still and allowed him to adjust her wardrobe. The girl always welcomed his touches, finding them comforting and similar to her dearest brother's embraces.

"I suppose, although I'd much rather stay awake." She uttered, her eyelids obviously becoming heavy as she struggled to keep consciousness, for it was quite late in the night, even early morning.

"But My Lady will need her sleep if she is to have a proper interaction with the baron in the morning." Lucas countered, removing her headpiece and setting it on the seat beside him.

"I am not yet tired enough to slumber." She retorted, kicking her legs back as the other tried to lift her feet to take off her shoes. He smiled devilishly at her, sitting back up and keeping eye contact with her.

"Is that so? Then please, My Lady, name every country in Europe." The slightest twitch of her eye showed as she crossed her legs obstinately.

"Fine." She replied, ignoring the jolts that swayed her from side-to-side. "Russia, France, Ukraine, Spain, Sweden, Norway…" she closed her eyes tightly, bringing her hand to her mouth to block her yawn, though the demon could sense her exhaustion. "Germany, Poland, Norway, Finland, Italy, England…" by this point he had lifted both feet and removed her brass-buckle heels, also placing them beside himself. "Romania, Greece, Belarus, Bul-…Austral-Austria, Denmark, Hungary…" she struggled to remember all the names, in spite of having recited them dozens of times before. Lucas waited patiently for his mistress to continue, before her tight eyelids slackened and her head dropped forward. He smiled knowingly at his method of making Victoria fall asleep. _Instead of counting sheep, my dear, witty mistress names countries, _he thought to himself, resisting chuckling at the orphaned girl.

Once he was sure she was asleep, he gently maneuvered her body so that she was lying, curled up, on the seat, her head rested in her arms. Lucas sat, contented, watching the small chest of the countess slowly rise and fall and her occasional stir in her sleep. Leaning over, he turned the knob on the lantern hanging above them until only a dim light illuminated the girl's silhouette.

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_A/N: All right! First chapter down. Yes, yes, you probably didn't read through the whole thing, but to those who did, I congratulate you for managing to not exit back and find something else! If you enjoyed this so far, then please review. If not, please review anyways to tell me what you thought, as long as it isn't completely rude. I really want to know what people think! Tell me if you want to read more! Thank you for reading –bows-_.


	2. Chapter 2: Past

_A/N: I thought I might as well post the second chapter as well, despite the lack of reviews…or…any other kind of rating… So! This chapter will be about the Angelus family, as mentioned in the chapter before. This is a flashback of Michael's, not in real time. Almost all of my characters will be introduced with their memories/past. The next chapter, however, is where the actual story begins. So please R&R! _

Black Butler III

Chapter 2: Past

The Angelus family – at first they were peasants, no more than mere commoners. However, in 1868, on the east coast of America, this insignificant little clan was suddenly rich and respected greatly. Jonathon Angelus, Michael's father, was simply looking for an adventure with his wife when he decided to spend the last of his small payment, from his job as a carriage driver, on two tickets to the exotic land of North America. He could simply have stowed away, but he was an honest, honorable man. They spent a few weeks living off what they could, wandering streets and waiting for any opportunity to come along for work. They weren't unhappy, though. No, his parents were thrilled to be exploring the land together, and it didn't matter to them how little they had or how cold they were at night.

"Good things always happen to good people", is what his father said, and he truly believed that. He eventually found work and began to experiment with architecture. He sketched on his breaks a lot and, sometimes, one or two people would take notice of the detailed pillars and engraved woodwork he would put so much effort in. The Americans were fascinated by the designs he drew, resembling buildings in England. He was immediately was hired to be an architect in New York. Michael's parents were extremely joyful, and gladly took the job. For years he drew, did math, and slowly his small amount of money cumulated greatly. Large building industries all around the country were practically begging him to work for them, but since he originally came to settle down and start a family, he kept his word and rejected every offer.

It wasn't a bad decision, for he still grew very wealthy anyways. He was famous in many areas of the world, including England. He was asked to return several times and live as a ranked baron, or even a viscount if he pleased, but by then his wife was already pregnant with their first baby. He couldn't possibly return when she was with a child, so he stayed put in New York. He did, however, accept to be addressed as a noble, and his status improved greatly.

They both spent most of their time at home, for Jonathon's work didn't require him to leave the manor often. He designed his mansion, and had it built straight away so that they could move in before their child was born. It wasn't excessively large or fancy, for they didn't think that kind of lifestyle was too fitting for them, considering they lived in a one-room shack for the majority of their too-short lives.

On August 4th, 1874, Michael was finally brought into the world, and the two of them couldn't be happier. His father wanted to cease his work, but Lillian, his wife, insisted that he kept his job. Servants were then hired, and every one of them was loyal to the family. The Angelus' never had any bodyguards or disguised gunmen, since an architect isn't exactly a career that makes one an easy target, so they were always a little vulnerable. They paid no mind to it, though. They were fairly close to town – close enough for their son to go to a high-end private school by the time he was old enough to be taught properly. Lillian considered private tutoring at their manor, but Jonathon was resolute on Michael going to a school, where he could meet other boys and socialize. He always thought social skills were a very important value to have, despite the fact that he had a somewhat limited vocabulary due to not getting a completely proper education.

After a few years, Lillian wanted another child, but unfortunately, she no longer was able to give birth. Although they were all greatly devastated, she stayed strong and continued to smile happily, even though the warm glow in her eyes was extinguished, leaving a hollow blue to chill anyone who looked into their depths. Michael was seven by the time she finally recovered from her depression, and all was well for several years after that. That is, until that one fateful day when Michael's whole life crumbled in the palm of destiny's hand.

It was just a few days after his fifteenth birthday, and the day started out as normally as any other – he woke up, readied himself, and went downstairs to have breakfast with his parents before he was driven to school by one of the butlers, who specifically served the child of his employers.

"Good morning, Mother, Father." Michael said formally, making sure to annunciate each word correctly in the American accent that he had picked up from school. The noble took his seat, promptly pulled out just enough for him to scoot in by the head butler Francis, and sat upright.

"Michael, darling, you don't have to use formality with your own parents. How many times do I have to tell you?" his mother sighed, raising the antique Rose Bone china to her lips. He shrugged lightly, not necessarily giving a direct answer.

"I'm simply using proper etiquette, Mother. I was born with the blood of a noble, and I must act as one if I am to represent the family name with honor and dignity." he recited masterfully, nodding evenly as Francis poured his tea.

"Oh, my. To think we raised such an apt boy." She showed her lovely grin as her gloved fingers laced under her chin.

"He's growin' into quite the man, eh?" his father haughtily said, patting Michael's shoulder roughly. He allowed the small tug of the corner of his lips and smiled gently at the two. He did not say anything, for a plate was placed in front each of them.

"Today, Ernest has prepared a lyonnaise with minced eggs and bread toasted to a golden brown and drizzled with honey. To accompany your meal, I have served an English Breakfast blend tea, imported strait from London itself, to give the young sir energy for the day." Francis listed rather monotonously, for he declaims the same line day after day. Michael gladly welcomed the food, reveling in his chef's excellent cooking skills.

Breakfast went by fairly quickly, just like it usually did. He finished off the last of his tea and stood, checking the grandfather clock to see how long He had to get to school. The young man typically was on time, and today would be no different. He would kiss his mother on the cheek, say goodbye to his father, and allow the head maid to adjust his uniform before the second butler, Lionel, drove him to school while Francis stayed to cater to his parents and chores. Michael would sit in the carriage while Lionel took the reigns in the box seat. On the way to school, they would pass over a small creek, drive by a local bakery, and turn exactly eight corners before they arrived, just as he always did.

At school, Michael would sit in the same seat he always did, listen to the same teacher explain things he already knew, and eat lunch under the same tall tree, all alone, just like every other day. He wouldn't speak much, other than answering questions and saying an occasional 'hello' to the rich young men passing by.

The boys his age were very immature – constantly laughing loudly and playing with balls and not focusing at all on their studies. Michael, however, had a future to plan for, and goofing off when there's still work to be done does not suit him in the least. His mother and father were unknown of, and it took time for them to get where they are now, and Michael fully intended to continue his father's work when he is no longer able to. The name 'Angelus' deserved to be thought more of, and a bad reputation is not what it needed.

When school is over, He would pack up his belongings and leave the campus, where Lionel would be waiting at exactly 2:23 p.m. The butler would drive him home, and Michael would give the cat in his garden his leftover lunch before entering the manor, where Lillian and her maid, Helen, would be waiting to greet him. His father would be in his study, and Michael would go to the library to do his homework and then read.

In the evening, he would be called from his studying of architecture for dinner, and would go down to the dining room where he sat on the far left of the large, rectangular table. They would eat, then retreat to the sitting room, where his mother would light a fire and write poems, as she loved to do so, and Jonathon would let her prop her head against his shoulder as she started falling asleep. Michael would be at the window seat, watching the stars. They had always fascinated him greatly; their tiny bodies in the sky so large light up the ground below. Trillions of them – just sitting there so splendidly on the pitch-black canvas behind them, creating endless shapes and slowly curving, always moving from east to west, just like the sun and moon do.

When it's time to retire, his father would wake up his mother and hug Michael goodnight as he left for his room. When there, Lionel would be waiting to tend to any of his needs as he bathed. He usually wouldn't require anything from him, so he could relax in the hot rosewater before he had to sleep. He no longer was bathed by a butler, for he was far too old to have another do for him what he needed to do on his own, so he was only ever needed to be of assistance when he poured fresh water for the noble to rinse with when he brushed his teeth with his bone-handled brush.

He would have a fire lit and his glasses set on the nightstand for the next morning as he climbed into his warm bed, covered with minimal layers of blankets for the summer months. He would read a poetry book by one of his favorite authors, for Lillian was very protective of hers, even though she was a very good writer.

When the moon finally rose enough so that it was no longer visible through the small crack in his curtains, Michael would put up the book and blow out the candles illuminating the room, and fall asleep to the crackling embers of the fire and have a dreamless night, free of any 'exciting images' that his mother would describe during breakfast the next morning. This is what he had planned to do that day, as well as every other, and continued to believe it would happen until he stepped off the campus and was surprised, something he dreads greatly.

"Where is Lionel?" Michael wondered to himself, craning his neck in both directions, watching to see if he'd come rushing down the street like he did once before. No sign of him showed, so he held his book bag at his side and waited – one minute, five minutes, ten minutes, passed and most of the student body had already fled home.

He still was not there when the traffic began to die down, and anger started boiling inside Michael, masking the slight panic he felt. "He's not coming? How am I supposed to get home?" he paced the cobblestone and grit his teeth, reaching into his pocket to check his watch. It had been twenty minutes and his butler had not appeared. He snapped it shut and calmly repositioned his glasses, deciding to rent a carriage with the money he had on him. A shop was nearby where he could pay someone to drive him home, or at least most of the way there, and it would not hurt to be on his feet just a little longer.

He stepped into a low-quality cart and sat after telling the driver the address. They bumpily drove on a different route than Lionel took him, and the sun was in a different position, hitting his eyes, making it almost intolerable to look out the window.

He nearly couldn't tell when he pulled up into the circular driveway, until they came to a slowing halt. He quickly observed the horse pen, where all three carriages were sitting. He furrowed his eyebrows, opening his door to look properly at the property. Everything was how it should have been, except for the extra carriage, as he discourteously handed the driver a few coins, anxious to find out why the schedule was broken. Michael, as always, first took a detour to the front garden to discover that the small black cat was not there that day. Its bed of old cloth was empty, and no indication of it having been there recently, showed. Disappointment and fear constricted his throat, but he swallowed it and serenely walked up the steps to his house.

The hallway appeared to be normal – the coat rack held three hats and two jackets, and the lights on the wall were all off, for the sunlight lit up the long room brightly. He hung up his coat and hat, retrieving his bag and striding towards the double doors that would lead into the foyer.

"Francis? Lionel? Why was there not a carriage to take me ho-" he shouted as he opened the door to a sight that made the breath catch in his throat and his heart stop. Red. Red covered everything – the floor, the chairs, the grand staircase, and splattered against the wall, growing thicker as his eyes followed the trail of it to its source.

Michael's eyes widened greatly and his bag fell to the floor. His hand flew to his mouth as he dropped to his knees, leaning over as he vomited at the horrific scene. He panted heavily, standing once again to face the bodies sprawled across the room. Next to the couch was the head maid, Helen, a hole through her dress and broken a broken tea set puncturing her skin as her arm lay in an unnatural position. On top of the stairs was Francis, also shot, his tailcoat ripped through as fresh blood still leaked from his body. The same was with the chef Ernest and another maid, both at the doorway to the dining room, their faces contorted with fear as they lay slumped over one another. Michael shook his head as his eyes passed over the room, seeing countless servants, including Lionel, fatally wounded and surrounded by a pool of their own blood. Tears welled up his eyes as he saw the worst sight of all.

_No_, he thought, tears now streaming uncontrollably down his face, _this can't be happening. It isn't true. It isn't right. _

There, at the grand piano, was his mother, drooping forward, lifeless. That dreadful color painted the keys as her hollow blue eyes peeked over her shoulder, the exact same shade as when she learned of her inability to reproduce anymore. In front of her, face-up, a bullet through his chest, as if he tried to shield his wife from an attack, was Jonathon, also dead. Michael panted heavily and grasped at his chest, denying the horror that lay before him countless times, only to be told by the scent and sight that it really did occur.

Fear, panic, shock, and grief all struck him at once, stabbing his heart with the excruciating pain of loss. His parents, who he cherished so dearly, were gone. He would never see his mother's loving smile, never hear her soft hum as she wrote, never feel her warm embrace, again. Michael would never have chess sessions with his father, never grimace at him and his mother kissing, never hear his profuse 'I love you's ever again. The goodbye he said this morning would be the last he ever gave them. They would never see him grow up, and he would never have anyone to comfort him when he's sad, kiss him when he's hurt, or support him when he's discouraged. He would never see them again; never tell them how much he loved them. They didn't deserve to die, they didn't. What had they ever done to deserve death?

Suddenly rage burned deeply and his knuckles turned white with the pressure of his clenching fists. Who would dare kill his household? Someone that low _did_ deserve death, and Michael wanted so much to be the one who delivered it.

His head drooped and he took a shaky step forward, then another, passing by Helen and staining his shoes with blood. When he was at the center of the room, he no longer cried, too much in shock and fury to even bother.

"Why?" he whispered, barely reaching past his lips. "Why?" he said a bit louder, his hands shaking with rage. The silence ringed in his head, echoing the wretched loneliness that had engulfed his soul. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to find a second of serenity. When he opened them, mist was flowing around his ankles. He widened them entirely, pushing his glasses up properly onto his face, examining the layer of vapor that hid the pool of red. He raised his head fully, looking for the origin of it.

What he found, however, was even more unexpected, though it did not affect him in the slightest. An incredibly large snake slithered toward Michael, its split tongue darting out of its mouth several times. He didn't move, didn't react. The aching in his chest was too much itself to handle, so new emotions didn't distress him.

"Hello, young man. This is quite a situation, isn't it?" said a female voice, presumably coming from the snake. "Would you like out of it?" he recovered from his state of shock, his eyes clearing up as he watched it. Michael knitted his eyebrows and tried to concentrate on the question. Did he want out of it?

"I don't. I've already seen the horrible sights, already engraved this heartbreaking emotion deep into my soul. Now that I have, I want to make it right." he said plainly, clutching at his shirt.

"Hmmm… how would you make it right?" it hissed. He narrowed his eyes, the fires of anger burning in his stomach as he clenched his jaw in realization.

"Death." The word came off his tongue pleasurably, and Michael didn't mind the chilling ring his voice sounded. "Not my own, but of the ones who did this."

The voice chuckled menacingly, sending shivers down his spine. "How exciting! I haven't had a fully-constructed soul in quite a while." Its words eluded him, and so did patience.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, earning a sinister hiss from the snake.

"I can help you, if you want it that is." It said, slithering closer to Michael. He didn't retreat, but warily gazed at it as it made a circle around him.

"How will you help?" he asked, feeling it rub against his leg.

"I will do whatever you want to achieve your goal, make every wish of yours come true, be it eating a simple cake or ruling the world. Whatever you command me to do, it will happen. Just give me a command and I will see to it that it is fulfilled." It climbed up his body, winding its head around his neck so he was face-to-face with it. Michael stared into the glowing pink eyes; feeling the pain and misery of thousands mingle with his own. He considered its offer, with all the intellect he had in his despair, and decided.

"Here is your command: make my wish of destroying the one who destroyed my life come true." He said, looking directly into the eyes of desolation, finding a light of hope in them. A light chuckle escaped the snake's mouth as it lashed out in a millisecond, sinking its fangs into the palm of his right hand. He winced in pain, but did not move, for the physical discomfort didn't compare to the one he had inside.

As it moved away, it left a mark on his skin. In the center of his hand rested a circle with a pentagram in the middle, a flowery design bordering the deep black ring. He felt the weight lift off his body and glanced up, seeing no longer a snake, but a woman before him, clad in a jet-black dress with a white apron and ribbon clashing against it. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders and her big eyes still glowed around the slit pupils.

"Yes, Sir." She kneeled before him, her knee disappearing in the retreating fog. Fatigue immediately swept over him as he collapsed on a clean step of the stairs. The image of his deceased loved ones and a snake-like woman haunted Michael's sleep, repeating the gruesome experience over and over, scarring his mind forever.


	3. Chapter 3: Visitor

_A/N: Alright, I will continue posting! Thank you for the encouraging reviews, that really gave me hope in my story. This is only my first, so if there are any errors please inform me so that I may improve. Anyways, this is where the actual plot begins to develop. It moves rather quickly from here, but I'm not mean enough to add filler or anything. So without further ado, chapter three!_

* * *

Black Butler III

Chapter 3: Visitor

Michael Angelus, current baron of the infamous Angelus family, sat adjacent to the fireplace in the office of his manor in New York City. After his household's murders seven months ago, he had not hired a new staff and relied solely on his single demonic governess. Mary-Anne is what he named her, for he had always fancied that name. He no longer attended the private school he once did, and hardly ever left his house. Whenever he did, however, his loyal servant was always right behind him. She acts more as the head butler than a governess, but is addressed as one anyway.

The police released him after questioning him for several hours, keeping him locked in a dark room. He could sense the demon's presence beside him, and hear her light faux breath over his own as he waited for the warden to discharge him.

He had returned to the mansion, eyeing the now clean foyer. Any trace of blood was gone, and every piece of furniture was sterilized. He knew, of course, that no machinery or cleaning equipment could get the stains out of the couch and wipe every drop free from the keys on the piano, so naturally he assumed his devil maid had gone over the room before he had arrived.

Michael continued his work at home, studying everything he would need to know on his own. He occasionally had a tutor come and teach him things he couldn't learn on his own, like cello and Latin lessons. Otherwise, the baron would do a great deal of math and practice drawing on his own.

Over the years he had improved almost masterfully, and portrayed many still-life paintings. The usual target of his artwork was the woman that would stand in the corner of the room, awaiting any order her master would give her. She would allow him to do as he pleased and would acknowledge his work when he completed it, though she stopped finding his artwork to be impressive after several months of it.

Mary-Anne would sometimes regret making a covenant with the child, for she saw him as boring. All he would ever do is study, and never paid any mind to doing something interesting. That is, until one winter morning when an unidentified carriage pulled up into the driveway. She watched it carefully, and hurried to tell her master of the strangers' appearance.

"Well, don't just stand there – go welcome whoever has come," He ordered her, standing to follow her as she bowed and left the room.

Michael walked quickly down the stairs to the main hall, hearing the door open. "Good morning. How may I help you?" Mary-Anne said. On the last step, he could clearly see his visitors. He was slightly confused, for he would not have expected who was at the door.

"Top of the morning to you too. I am Lady Victoria Alexander, and this is my tutor, Lucas," Said a girl with long brown pigtails. He approached them, straitening his glasses as he stood next to his governess, who was only a few inches taller than him.

"Hello, Your Ladyship. This is Lord Michael, Baron of Angelus. Wh-" Mary-Anne replied, waving a hand in the direction of the noble before she was interrupted.

"Thank you, Mary-Anne, but your introduction is unnecessary, for Her Ladyship would not be here if she did not know who I was, am I correct?" Michael stepped forward, unafraid, towards the girl with a parasol and man clad in black behind her.

"You are indeed correct, Lord Angelus. I am not here to harm you or your household, but to simply ask a few questions about the murder of your parents, the former baron and baroness," She replied in a distinct English accent.

"Are you with the police?" he wondered, looking over the two.

"I ensure you, I am not with the police or any other forces. I am simply a curious civilian, seeking answers for research about a new form of bullets," Victoria told him.

"A lady of such young age?" he questioned suspiciously.

"My age is irrelevant to what I have to ask," she claimed, "And what I have to offer." The baron considered her for a moment and decided to let her inside.

Mary-Anne was especially cautious at the moment, for the man across from her was not at all human. She could sense his demonic presence as soon as he neared the manor, and was immediately wary when she saw his face. She knew this demon; he is famous for his whims and tendency to end contracts early, despite the symptoms of power-loss and illness a devil would receive from it. However, he never seems to lose any power – in fact, he seems to be stronger every time he makes a new covenant. He's apparently not the most patient of demons, but she only knows what she does from petty rumors – she does not know him personally.

The young girl – whom she assumed the demon was contracted to – entered through the large doors of the main hall, her parasol striking the ground with every step. He followed closely behind, giving Mary-Anne a fanged smirk as he passed her bowing figure. The female devil's eyes pursued him carefully, ensuring her master's safety as he exceeded his position.

"Shall I take your hat and coat, Your Ladyship?" Mary-Anne offered the girl, a tense expression in place. Victoria nodded and the man removed said garments, handing them to the other servant.

"Lady Alexander, please follow me to the sunroom, where you can ask your questions over tea," Michael told her after Mary-Anne had hurried to hang up the articles of clothing on the coat rack beside the door. Victoria silently followed him, her green velvet dress ruffling gently under her hands. Michael's own hands were gloved in sleek, black leather; as to hide the Faustian mark that he shared with Mary-Anne.

The four of them headed through the silent foyer, past two hallways, until arriving in an octagon-shaped room with windows on every wall, letting light flood in. Two couches and armchairs surrounded a fireplace, and an elegant rug beneath the coffee table with a glass center. Michael led the countess in, where she promptly took a seat in his favorite chair without asking permission to before – it was only polite to be given consent to sit from your host when visiting someone for the first time.

Nevertheless, Michael sat across from her, summoning his governess to come over. "Go fetch us some tea, Mary-Anne. Do you have any preferences, Lady Alexander?" he added, wanting his rare guest to feel comfortable before asking what she had to say.

"Do you have any Earl Gray tea? I heard it's fairly popular in America," Victoria requested, crossing her legs and resting her arms on both armrests, surprising Michael. He ignored the odd behavior and shook his hand, signaling for Mary-Anne to go prepare the snacks.

"Are you not from here?" inquired the noble across from her, "Have you come from one of the European countries – England, perhaps?" Victoria scoffed at this and placed her head upon the back of her hand.

"I thought I was asking the questions here, Lord Angelus." He smiled gently at her.

"Of course. What exactly is it, Lady Alexander, that you wanted to know?" Michael asked, wary of the looming man beside her petite self.

"Should we not get situated and wait for tea, Your Lordship?" she retorted, her voice injected with venom as she wore a fake smile.

"Yes, we may wait." He replied calmly, linking his fingers together across his stomach. The baron watched the countess closely as she waited, her right leg swung over the other, her left hand holding her head. She eyed the room lazily, her lashes fluttering as she yawned. Victoria's lids lingered closed for several seconds before Mary-Anne came rushing back in, a trolley full of sweets and tea stopping between the two. The young noble's eyes darted open at the sudden action and she sat upright again, her hand leaving her cheek.

"I have returned with the snacks, Young Sir." The demonic governess bowed quickly to the sitting boy beside her and waited for a response.

"Very good," he replied simply. "Serve them, then." She removed the tray from the top and set it on the coffee table, swiftly taking one cup and pouring into it a long rivulet of steaming tea. After placing it back onto its plate and handing it to her master, she repeated the process to the second mug.

"Would you care for sugar, Your Ladyship?" she carelessly said, glancing up at the noble girl.

"Yes, six teaspoons, if you will." The master and demon both gave a questioning look at Victoria, whereas her "tutor" remained still beside his student.

Nevertheless, Mary-Anne scooped into the sugar bowl six times, dumping the contents of the silver spoon into the small porcelain cup.

"Thank you," Victoria said politely as her host's maid handed her an antique Rose Bone teacup. She uncrossed her legs and tucked them beside her, leaning her upper body weight on the armrest. She blew lightly on her beverage before sipping from it.

Lady Alexander's actions puzzled Michael; it was far from any way a proper noble should act – especially in public. Nevertheless, he allowed it and waited patiently for her to ask her questions.

"So, Lord Angelus, I would like to ask a series of questions about the events that happened before, during, and after the murder of your household," she said calmly, setting the half-empty teacup on the plate in her lap. He nodded slowly before she added, "However, before I do so, I would like to ask for freedom of speech while conversing, for some of my statements may be offending or somewhat personal, and I would prefer to have permission to say what I must to get the answers I require." Michael looked perplexedly at her, wondering what she had in mind.

"You have my consent to say what you please, as long as it is not degrading or insulting to my family name," He responded, curious to see what she would ask.

"Thank you. Now, I would like to begin by asking about your whereabouts throughout that day," She said simply, resembling the manner in which the police addressed him with when asking the same thing.

"Is that really necessary? As I recall, you are here to ask about the bullets used. Why do you need to know my alibi?" he narrowed his eyes at her, finding Victoria to be very suspicious.

"I need to know why those bullets were used in this case, and to do so, I require you to tell me exactly what happened that day. Start with the morning, and go through your daily schedule. Remember, this research will be very beneficial to both you and I," She riposted, receiving a slight sigh from the young man across from her.

"Very well," he finally said, "That morning was the same as every other, nothing out of the ordinary. My parents were perfectly contented, not in the least bit worried or anxious, as was I. I was driven to school, but at the end of the day, my butler had not come to pick me up. After about an hour, a rented carriage dropped me off at home. Everything appeared normal from the outside, and so did the rest of the house, except for the foyer, where everyone was slain. Some were cut and everyone was shot, I think. It was a bit of a blur… A few hours past before I ran to town and the police department, where they kept me in custody after visiting my house. The police said that I was fortunate to not be home during the time of the murder, for I would not have been spared just because I am a child."

That statement made Victoria think back to how the shooter hesitated when pointing his gun at her head. The man back then was uncertain when killing her family, yet now, this killer seemed to have no mercy with his or her victims. _Could it be a different person? _She wondered, and asked, "Does your family have any enemies?"

"I don't believe so," Michael said, thinking of any possible person that was not fond of his family. "Although, I do remember a woman visiting our house a few years ago. My mother kept me in a different room, but I could hear her and my father arguing about something. I didn't understand what they were saying through the wall, but it might have been a quarrel over money. She sounded very angry, and I heard the name Sophia as he addressed her. I'm not sure who she was, or what she wanted, but her chilling voice as she said 'You will rue the day you reject my offer' as she slammed the front door behind her was as clear as you hear me now. Mother and Father did act a little more protective after that incident, and I was not permitted to leave the manor for several days."

"Sophia? Did you hear a last name?" Victoria asked quickly, anxious to learn the suspect's identity.

"No, I'm afraid I did not. Though, she did mention the surname Lushire. I'm not sure who that is, but perhaps that person is involved as well." He remembered.

"Lucas," she snapped at him, "Do you know of any Lushire?"

"I do not, Lady Alexander. However, the name may German, so she could possibly be from Germany," He replied, glancing down at Victoria.

"No, that woman undoubtedly had an English accent." Michael shook his head at Lucas's theory, deserting the tea in his lap.

"Did you see her face?" Victoria immediately followed.

"No, but she was a redhead."

"Has she ever come back?"

"She has never returned."

"Did your mother also join in the conversation?"

"No, my father banished her to another part of the house."

"Did you father ever go out in the middle of the night or spend days at a time out of the mansion?"

"He occasionally left for trips to different cities for work."

Victoria pondered his words.

"Could Sophia have been your father's mistress?"

Bewildered at her blunt accusation, Michael knitted his eyebrows together and snapped, "Impossible! My father had no mistresses! He was a loyal husband and parent, and would never deceive his family!"

Victoria ignored his angered shouts and calmly replied, "I understand. Then how do you suppose he knew her?"

Michael thought for a minute, analyzing any business partners he knew of, before realizing that he hadn't any idea as to who she is. "I don't know." He quietly leaned back into his chair.

"Your servants – could they have betrayed your family?" was her next question.

"Our servants were entirely devoted to our household. They would have taken a bullet for any of us. Ironically, they actually did in the end."

"Oh? So when did you get your demon?" Victoria smirked at the two startled figures.

"What?" Michael said sharply, "How did you-" he closed his mouth, shocked at her remark.

"I'm guessing it was directly after the incident; you don't seem like one to be involved with such dark things like demons," she said nonchalantly as she took another sip from her tea.

"How could you have known about Mary-Anne?" Michael demanded.

"I could sense it. I knew there was a devil on your property, but I realized you had contracted this demon as soon as she answered the door," Victoria declared.

"What does that mean?" Michael insisted.

"It means she knows the ways of magic," Mary-Anne interrupted, watching the girl drink with cold eyes.

"Oh, I can't fully apply it yet, however, Lucas has taught me a good number of the essentials. I can easily sense the presence of otherworldly beings and use the most basic of spells."

"Magic? How is that possible?"

"You gave her some of your powers, didn't you?" Mary-Anne looked revoltingly at Lucas, who wore the same knowing grin as his mistress.

"No, I did not, Miss Mary-Anne. My talented little mistress already had some powers in her, for she summoned me. I am simply teaching her how to use black magic to the fullest she can."

"What are you?" he said harshly.

"I am the same as your contractor, Your Lordship." Michael stared hard at Victoria, then Lucas as he become conscious of the fact that there were numerous demons contracting humans in the world.

"What is the true reason you have come here, Lady Alexander?" the noble queried her.

"The explanation I have given you is honest. I have visited you today to learn of the use of the atypical bullets." Victoria paused to finish off the last of her tea, holding the cup upside down to gather the few drops left in it.

"_Atypical? _The bullets used on my household have never been used before my case, or after."

"They have never been used – according to the _experts,_" Victoria stated, drawing the close attention of the two across from her. "Have you heard of the case where three nobles were killed, shot to be precise, yet no bullets were found near or around the bodies?" Michael's eyes widened at the memory of his father discussing that case with his golfing friends a few years ago, terrifying Michael as he hid behind a bush listening to them. "The Westchesters, a rich family from England, yet only their name was known of, not the occupation in which they earned the title of counts and ladies. They had two children, one son and one daughter. No one knows why they were in America, or where the missing daughter is today. It really is quite a baffling incident, not that their other families cared, and the queen suffered even worse, given that they were close to the throne. I wonder what happened to the young girl who never returned to her home in Birmingham?"

Michael stared hard at Victoria as she leapt from her chair, spinning to face him again, a knowing smirk on her face.

"You…" he started, standing with her. "Your real name isn't Alexander, is it?" he received a sneer from Victoria as she crossed her arms at him.

"You're too trusting, Lord Angelus. Your demon here really must be more careful about who she allows near her master."

Mary-Anne furrowed her eyebrows at the magical girl just feet from her contractor. _I knew this one was dangerous, _she thought before jumping forward to wrap her arms around Michael, bounding back to put a larger gap between them in a matter of milliseconds.

"Oh, I assure you, I am not dangerous, Mary-Anne. I cannot say the same about Lucas, but I am not here to harm you or His Lordship." She reassured the devil, giving no reaction to the sudden movement that caused a breeze to blow her hair. "I got what I came for, and now I will leave you in peace. Lucas, my parasol." Victoria lifted her arm to catch the soaring item that her butler tossed her.

Michael struggled from Mary-Anne's grip, stepping forward to attract Victoria's attention. "You're saying our cases are connected by bullets?"

She stopped, glancing back at the two. "So you are smart enough to figure it out. Yes, somehow, we are linked through the bullets. Lucas, give them my card." She ordered.

The devil butler pulled something from his front pocket and walked over Michael, who was blocked by Mary-Anne before he could reach him. Lucas instead handed the small paper to the woman, who snatched it away with hate in her eyes.

"The name and number of my hotel is on this card; we will contact each other if we find any information regarding either of our cases. Good day, Lord Angelus, Mary-Anne." She began to amble forward again, an echo sounding with each strike of her parasol to the floor.

"Wait," he added, deciding that she was a chance at vengeance. "There was another servant – he survived."

Victoria lingered, turning sharply at the doorway. "Who?" She demanded.

"His name is Jasper… Jasper Adkins. He retired a few years ago due to old age, but he knew my parents very well. Find him – he might have information. That is, if he still remembers who I am. I would go myself, but I'm afraid my presence would give him grief."

"And where might I find this Mister Adkins?" Victoria leaned her weight onto the frilly parasol, bending her arms over the hooked handle.

"I don't know. His files are not here – I have already checked for them. I will search for anything with his name on it that might give a hint as to where he is now, but it would be quicker to look elsewhere. I will contact you if I do find something." Michael remembered rummaging through several drawers a few months back, looking for anything on him.

"Thank you, Lord Angelus. You have been of great help." With those final words, Victoria left, Lucas trailing closely behind her. Michael and Mary-Anne watched them as they returned to their carriage, the demon butler assisting his mistress up the step before climbing in himself.

"Can we trust them?" Michael asked, his eyes never leaving the window until the visitors were long gone.

"I do not know, Young Sir," Mary-Anne answered, the presence of the two beings slowly disappearing as they trailed off into the distance. "I suppose we will find out over time."

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_A/N: Suspense! Or at least that's what I was going for. Yes, I added magic into this story. Don't judge, I thought it would be an interesting aspect. So thank you for reading through the whole chapter! Please review! If I get enough people who like this story, I'll post more! Sincerely, Tori-chan._


	4. Chapter 4: Locating

_A/N: Chapter four has arrived! The plot continues as Michael and Victoria each go their separate ways to search for information. I'm just going the let the ideas flow with this one and see how it goes._

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Black Butler III

Chapter 4: Locating

Michael opened the door to his father's old study, the door creaking from under-use as it swung forward slowly. Dust covered every surface, giving the baron a strong longing to wipe the furniture clean of the grime. He ignored the yearning in his gut and looked over the desk, bookshelves, and filing cabinet as memories of his past flooded through him. The last time he had been in his father's study was the day before the occurrence.

"One day, you'll take over and continue my work, Michael," His father told him.

"And my office will look like this?" he asked uninterestedly. Jonathon chuckled and roughly patted his son's shoulder.

"Maybe. Yours will probably be lots better, with more technology. Mine is suited to my preferences, but yours will be just the way you want it. You'll take over the household, and the family name. 'Michael, Baron of Angelus' don't that sound real nice, son?" Michael wondered about when he would take over the business, although he tried to avoid thoughts of the future.

"It will be a long time before I do so, Father." Michael said coolly, receiving a haughty smile from the current baron.

"Oh, not that long. See these wrinkles? I'm getting pretty old, boy." The young man evaded his father's eyes, not wanting him to see the sadness in his expression. For the eldest son to become the next head of the family, the current one must first pass away. Even if the father hands down the title, it is not official until death.

Never would Michael have thought that he actually would receive the title of baron so early in life, and especially when his parents were in the prime of their lives, despite the 'old' jokes they made. When the two of them left the room that day, Michael never stepped foot in it again. He ordered Mary-Anne to search his filing cabinets for anything on Jasper a week after he returned home, but he himself had always been too sheepish to enter. He had already checked the library and his father's bedroom, but had no luck. If there were to be any information on one of the servants, it would be in this room.

This day, however, Michael found a new sense of courage to cross the threshold into the room that his father spent the majority of his time. The girl that visited him today found things deep within him that he had been too afraid to discover just yet. The trauma from only a few months ago still haunted every dream he had, though he tried his hardest to overcome the painful reminders of his parent's deaths. Although now that he had a guide to help him achieve his goal, the baron could now find the audacity to explore his past once more.

He took one hesitant step inside, then another. Light poured in from the windows in which the velvet curtains had been left wide open, tied up on either side with matching ropes. The particles of dirt floated indolently in the rays of sunlight, mocking Michael as he disregarded them to enter the room.

He took a deep breath and strode across the room to the dark cedar wood desk in the center of the rug. Pushing aside the doodles and sketches, Michael threw open several drawers, rummaging through each one thoroughly before moving on to the next. Ignoring the picture of he and his parents on the corner of the desk, he filed through a bundle of documents, eyes grazing over every line.

Finding nothing of any importance, he gently closed the drawers and thought to look elsewhere. Deciding to check the filing cabinets in spite of his demon's previous search, he started at the bottom of the tall wooden cupboard. Dozens of papers organized into individual files occupied every drawer. Pushing up his glasses, he scanned every title, not finding one that would relate to Jasper. Still he searched every one, eventually growing hopeless.

Just as he was considering giving up, he found something that interested him greatly in the personal letters section. He read through it, every line more intriguing than the last.

"I must contact Lady Westchester." He said as he folded the paper, slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. Michael treaded out of the room; hurrying to the foyer to call the hotel number depicted on the card she gave him.

. . .

The carriage that held Victoria and Lucas peeled out of the driveway of the Angelus manor, heading for New York City just a few miles away. "We have our information," Victoria spoke, triumph sketched across her face. Lucas looked down at her, trying to ignore her unladylike posture like she told him to. "Now all we have to do is find this Jasper Adkins and get an answer out of him."

"Are you intending to contact Sir Angelus if you do get any indication from Adkins?" Lucas asked her, receiving a sneer across from him.

"Of course not. He was a bloody idiot, that one. To think that I had to be the one to steer him in the right direction; I almost feel pitiful for that devil of his who had to endure his farce this whole time," She bluntly declared with a smirk. "I got what I needed, and I don't plan on working with some naïve teenage boy."

Lucas's hard stare pierced Victoria's mind as she ceased her speaking to hear what he was thinking. "How dishonest. This is quite surprising coming from you, My Lady. Lying is very immoral, especially about something like this," He scolded her. The younger one chuckled briefly, nearly angering the demon. "Do you find something I said to be humorous?"

"You – a demon – lecturing me on morals? I find that to be exceptionally amusing. I seem to have contracted a rather abysmal devil," Victoria scoffed. Lucas, filled with rage, snarled at his mistress.

"_Abysmal?_ You have yet to see my true form, little human. I'm merely telling you what I am for your own sake. Provoke me and I might lose my temper, _Young Mistress._" He warned the girl, getting a reaction unlike that he would have expected.

"Threaten me all you please Lucas; you will not harm me – at least not until my goal is achieved and you eat my soul," Victoria said nonchalantly, kicking her feet up onto his knees and linking her fingers behind her head. Lucas sat confused, pondering her feedback to his intimidation. He, however, smiled lightly at her and began to untie her boots. Her attitude was not unlike her usual self, and he welcomed it gladly. Her approach towards him is the reason he contracted her in the first place, and it diverted him whenever she addressed him with such.

"You are correct, My Lady. I would not harm you for the world. You will be under my blanket of protection till the very day you expire, be cared for with more affection than you will receive from any other, and always stay in the light, so that I may be your shadow." He proclaimed, carefully removing her shoes.

Victoria genuinely smiled at Lucas, her voice sincere as she said, "I will never be in the light, Lucas. I will always be in the shadow of pain, in the shadow of the throne," She laid her head back against the cushion and sighed heavily, allowing her butler to shed her socks and rest her feet against him once again. "I suppose I will share my information with Angelus. He might be of some use to me later," She eventually sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing her muscles. "Make sure that when I wake up it's outside of Adkins' house."

Lucas smirked lightly to himself as he watched the little countess drift off to sleep. "Yes, My Lady." He whispered. Only hours after resting badly the night before, she had to make a 'visit' to the post office to find the address of the Baron of Angelus. She tried to keep the injuries amongst the workers minimal, but some townspeople might not get mail for a few days.

Victoria kept her composure – or at least what she thought was composure – and managed to get through the morning without food or sleep. Lucas admired her ability to act so cold, even though he had seen the true warmth inside of her.

He did find it rather incommodious that she always did everything herself, from cleaning to dressing and bathing, even though the demon butler insisted on taking care of housework. He knew it was from years of doing chores on her own, but Lucas still found it bothersome that he had to teach her how to act properly in society.

Luckily, due to women's rights law of 1839, if there were no more boys to take on the noble title, the eldest daughter was liable to inherit everything, so Victoria earned the title countess even though her existence is unheard of. Despite her high rank in society, she still acted as if she were a poor commoner. Her attitude, however, was that of a spoiled brat, according to Lucas.

Lucas could easily find a way to locate this mysterious Jasper Adkins before his mistress woke up. He would use his demon senses to locate him, even though it would be impossible to use them in a small, enclosed space like a carriage. Nevertheless, the little countess ordered him to find Adkins, so that is what he would do.

A human with magic is able to situate a person's position as well, but they would require something from the individual's body to use in a spell, such as a lock of hair or even a few skin cells. Demons, soul reapers, and angels, though, can find anyone with just their own senses. It's a very difficult process, so only the strongest of these otherworldly beings can manage. Lucas had long before mastered this procedure, so finding this one human would be fairly simple if he were able to leave the elevated box he was trapped in.

Any demon could find a familiar human by scent, but when trying to find an unknown being just by an order, the devil would have to use a special method with his that is somewhat different from the way soul reapers find their targets. Shinigami can see people normally, but also see them very differently. Their prey is visible wherever they are, whether they are in a different room or a thousand miles away. A particular glow will emit from their dying bodies, drawing in a reaper.

Angels, when in heaven, use water to see the person they seek. Any pool of water can show what the holy being is looking for, or randomly show any images if they angel wishes. When on Earth, they are guided from inside to an individual. Angels sometimes descend from their haven to bless a human in need, or to answer prayers that a human may have, so this method is suited perfectly for them.

Devils, however, use the Earth itself to locate a person. They can feel the human's presence through vibrations in the ground, allowing them to use their demonic eyes to pinpoint where exactly the being is on the planet. There are usually several hundred signals that come in, but it's very simple to find the closest one. Demons rarely use this process, unless it is an order from their contractor, for it is a very obvious course of action, making it dangerous to be caught. It also drains a generous amount of power, leaving the user of this action weak after having completed the spell. With Lucas' immense supply of power, however, this process affects him very little.

Lucas would have to sneak out the carriage for just a few seconds to find Adkins, then return to give the driver directions.

He gently removed Victoria's feet from his lap, setting them on the seat where he previously was before jumping out the door. He was on a lone dirt path in the forest, so he could quickly find Jasper and catch up. He removed his left glove, subsequently kneeling to the soil and placing his hand flat on the ground.

The symbol in the center of his hand glowed purple, and the same mark extended from his palm outwards around him, until Lucas was stooped in the middle of a large glowing pentagram. He closed his eyes; concentrating solely on the order his mistress gave him. Light tingles surged from his fingertips up his arm, impeding in his mind and showing him the image of Adkins' location on Earth. There were hundreds of illustrations of different men, but he found the one he was looking for. His slit-pupil eyes slowly opened and he lifted his hand from the ground, causing the light from both his hand and the earth to retreat.

He slipped his glove back on and in half a second, sprinted back to the carriage, and in another few seconds, quietly slipped back in through the door, getting no attention from either the driver or the sleeping girl. "Go to 34th Street, and I will guide you from there," He ordered out the window at the coachman, receiving a single nod from him. He leaned back in and repositioned Victoria's small feet onto his lap. Lucas watched the young countess as she dozed, her chest expanding and contracting slowly, her heart rate normal, and her eyes moving under their lids modestly, indicating that she was not dreaming.

Even though Victoria's Faustian mark is somewhere more inconspicuous, the two have an extremely strong bond. The placement of the contractor's covenant emblem effects how strongly the demon can sense every thing about its master, so the more obvious a place, the more powerful the pair will be. When giving the demon an order, the use of the words they spoke when first making the deal already act on it to forcefully obey, but the intentional revealing of the contract mark when making a command enhance the effects, so placing the mark somewhere expedient is what every demon tries to accomplish.

Each devil has a different symbol as to differentiate what human belongs to whom. Not only is it a sign of possession, but a demon's identity. The human they are contracted to may name them, but the pentagram design is a devil's true individuality.

. . .

Almost an hour later, they arrived at the address of Adkins' house and Lucas gently shook his mistress awake. She yawned deeply and noticed that he had unnoticeably put her shoes back on, but it was not uncommon that he did things like that in her sleep. She allowed Lucas to help her out of the carriage, then smoothed out the ripples in her dress before walking to the front door of the small two-story house.

"How did you find the house, Lucas?" she wondered absently, glancing up at her butler.

"Every magician has his secrets, My Lady," he answered vaguely, receiving a pout from the small girl.

Upon reaching the top of the steps, the countess knocked three times then waited for the door to be opened by a young woman who was no more than eighteen years old.

"May I help you?" she asked cautiously, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yes, is Mister Jasper Adkins home?" Victoria asked with a polite smile.

The woman gave her an odd look and said, "Who's asking?"

She giggled, joy emitting from her. "Of course. I am Victoria Angelus, Michael Angelus' cousin. Mister Adkins used to work for his family, and I wanted to pay him a visit."

* * *

_A/N: This was a pretty short chapter, unfortunately. (I hate short chapters, but I just had to end it there to make the next one flow better.) At least it got done pretty quickly, even for me! This really isn't one of my best. I'm not too fond of it either._

_Ah, yes, I made up some more wild things about this series. But hey, it's at least a little logical…I hope. It wasn't too ridiculous, was it? I thought it kind of made sense, and will tie in to later chapters. Please don't hate me for it T^T. And yes, this chapter didn't have any real development and was left off with another cliffhanger…type… thing. Either way, thanks for reading! _

_Please review to tell me what you thought and give some constructive criticism if possible. You people should review! Authors like me only want your opinion!_


	5. Chapter 5: Flavor

A/N: Another chapter is complete! Victoria will now be able to converse with Jasper, and also I'll add in some information about a demon's opinion on her master. I have been writing as intently as Kira to get this far (bw)b yeah that was lame. So off from my idiotic jokes and onto the chapter!

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Black Butler III

Chapter 5: Flavor

Mary-Anne eyed the card given to her by the little sorceress before she left with that devil of hers. Though a demon's faith in anything is very minimal, Mary-Anne's trust of the girl who provided hope to her master's case was almost none at all. Young Westchester's attitude alone was enough a reason to kill her right then, but the fact that she had strong magical abilities was even more of a cause for worry. She considered eliminating the girl when she was strolling out the front door, but that demon butler of hers would undoubtedly stop her and fought back, potentially tearing the house to shreds. Not only would she have to duel with Lucas, but also, even though the chances are rather slim, the countess could possibly actually contribute to finding the boy's target and free Mary-Anne of the tedious human.

Although she has not had the opportunity to properly taste her contractor's soul, the demon governess slash maid could tell that she would enjoy it wholly. Mary-Anne has consumed her fair share of souls, and all tasted somewhat the same. Some were firm with ignorance, spicy with anger, warm with love, and most often salty with despair. She even occasionally had some that were minty with happiness. But in the end, every soul she devoured was sprinkled with the pleasing tang of terror: terror of death, terror of leaving loved ones, terror of her.

When she first sunk her fangs into Michael's skin, however, Mary-Anne could taste the sweet flavor that was a pure heart. While his soul had been contaminated, his heart was still as wholesome as a priest. Not only was his heart chaste, but his mind was mind was strong.

Even though the trauma of first witnessing the beautiful sight of his dead household temporarily numbed his senses, she could still sense the strong barrier of internal force keeping his mind sane. A rare find for a demon.

More than often the ones she contracted with cases similar to Michael's were either already loony with the distress or were bound to be. She would usually have to take complete care of them for weeks, even months, their attitudes as cold as ice towards her.

There were some who were strong enough to get right to work in accomplishing their goal, but most of the truly revolting murders some of her victims went through were the ones who relied fully on Mary-Anne. She would sometimes care to these pathetic humans, but she typically got bored almost immediately. She would put up with those weaklings even just for the chance of eating a soul that experienced the horrors of losing someone dear to them.

The majority of the souls she consumed were of jealous women wanting revenge on their cheating husbands, arrogant business owners wanting to be the top company, and children wanting other people's happiness. These were mostly just gourmet snacks, but she didn't really find any of them to be fully satisfying. Fillers, if you will. She could simply eat any unfortunate human's soul without a contract if she wanted, but that was just feeding. All of those spirits were just bland spheres of empty emotions.

A fully constructed soul is much more enjoyable to feast on. Filled with delectable sensations, the texture and flavor of a complete soul is the reason why demons form covenants with pesky humans in the first place. When their life goal is reached, the essence of their soul becomes extremely appealing, depending on the person.

Not only does a soul provide food for a devil, but depending on how strongly the emotions of the human are, can also give the consumer more power. It's generally a negligible amount, but there are very rare occasions where an extremely impressive soul can have a significant effect on the being eating it. Mary-Anne has not yet had the opportunity to indulge in one of these luscious treats, but she could tell that Michael's was going to be somewhat close to one of these types of souls, no matter how bad his personality is.

No, Michael is not abusive or evil like some of the others she has contracted before him, but he is incredibly dull. For a boy his age, Mary-Anne would have expected to be doing something somewhat interesting, not stand by the wall and watch him doodle all day. If she weren't simply taking up space in his presence, she would be cooking, cleaning the entire house, or helping her master with his lessons. She wanted to do something fun, something entertaining with her time, but she picked the wrong human to amuse herself with. Mary-Anne knew of a demon in England who was having plenty of adventures with his contractor, chasing down criminals for the Queen. She wished she could escapade with her master, but he is too afraid to even step outside his house.

She has considered annihilating him before, but every demon has once before had thoughts of ending their contractors' puny lives. It is not unexpected for a demon to detest their master, for it is the nature of devils to loath humans. They only form covenants with those unintelligent creatures to harvest their souls in the most painful of ways, so the desire to slay them is expected.

But Mary-Anne does not hate the boy; she does not wish to kill him – not just yet that is. She may have a strong disliking towards him, but she will nonetheless work for him as she pledged she would.

Some impatient demons don't wait to eat their contractor's soul. That sorceress's doesn't, but Mary-Anne does. Although she is not the most tolerant of devils, she is one who keeps her word. Demons are not as terrible as humans describe them to be. True, they are the epitome of evil, but to their kind, humans are the lowest of beings.

Humans are greedy.

Humans are jealous.

Humans are hypocrites.

Humans are impetuous.

Humans are egotists.

Mary-Anne is a demon who sees herself to be far higher than this species who can barely keep themselves alive, she is a demon who keeps her word. Humans constantly lie, hurting their loved ones and themselves, if only for their own sakes. They cheat, they deceive, they take advantage of their own brethren just for their own selfish causes.

Not to say that demons aren't of the same manner.

Devils are elegant beings, however. Though they are malevolent they are charming creatures, indeed. These immortals have no limits to their abilities, their senses and skills far surpass those of scrawny human beings. It has been heard of that a person is close to that of an otherworldly being in dexterity, but demons are, in their eyes, superior to humans in every way.

That is why, when Mary-Anne's master came rushing into the foyer, she looked down upon her contractor with the flash of sin shining in her emerald eyes.

"Mary-Anne," the young man called, a fiery fortitude apparent in his voice. "Contact Lady Westchester's hotel at once."

"But Sir Angelus, surely you don't believe she has returned so soon?" she hissed venomously.

"Whether or not she receives my call immediately doesn't matter. She just needs to know that I have information to share with her," he said, striding toward the telephone on the tabletop behind his governess. She stepped left, blocking his path, with a spurious smile on her face.

"You wish to share information with that distasteful child?" she mimicked Michael's actions, sidestepping right, then left, as he tried to make his way around her.

"Of course," he stated, trying to maneuver around the demon. "I told her I would."

Mary-Anne narrowed her eyes at him, contriving against his objective movements. "You are not being compelled to share anything with that girl. You just met her; your full trust cannot be aimed toward her. She could be dangerous, Sir."

Michael, in turn, knitted his eyebrows at her statement, still trying to push past her. "I feel that I can. She is visiting Mister Adkins to give me information, so I will do the same. Now give me the card and move aside."

"But Sir-"

"That's an _order, _Mary-Anne," He said coldly.

She silenced herself and unwillingly handed him the parchment, allowing him to walk past her. Michael turned the knob on the front of the phone, dialing the number shown on the card in his hand.

Mary-Anne watched him angrily, livid at his actions. She wondered why he felt the need to associate himself with a stranger, a young sorceress at that. He wasn't quite stupid enough to have full faith in a little girl, so his intentions were puzzling. Did he expect her to keep her word? The boy was much too trusting. She would have to lecture him on reliance.

"Ah, hello," he spoke, "This is Michael Angelus, an acquaintance of one of your guests, Mister Marcellus…Then could you please leave a message for him?"

She tsked and turned, going to resume her former duties. She wondered why he didn't rehire any servants. All the chores and responsibilities of the household were dropped on her shoulders after the previous staff was killed off. Though she was a demon, Mary-Anne still found it to be somewhat overwhelming. With her master off in his study drawing blueprints and taking care of his own lessons, she was in charge of cooking, cleaning, hosting, gardening, teaching, she was the active female valet and coach, and she still had to cater to his needs between it all.

"Tell him I have information for Lady Victoria… Thank you very much… Yes, good day to you too." He swiftly hung up the phone and glanced over his shoulder to find that Mary-Anne had silently disappeared from the room.

The baron huffed at his governess's obstinate behavior and strode back upstairs to his study, on the way noticing that he neglected to close his father's office door. He quickly shut it after taking one last peek inside, moving back down the dimly lit hallway. He crossed the room to his desk by the window, taking a seat in his large leather chair. He rested his head upon his hands and closed his eyes, taking in the events of the day.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter he found, examining its contents before looking up outside. He wondered of the whereabouts of the girl he just met.

. . .

Victoria frowned at the contemptible teacup in her lap. The young woman, whose name she discovered was Caroline, invited her inside and offered tea. Of course since the countess had just earlier drank, another cup would be redundant. However, to avoid being rude, she accepted the proffer and graciously took the bitter beverage. Even though she did not grow up with nice things, she still consumed quality food and drink.

Lucas stayed outside, as not to intimidate either Caroline or Jasper. He still had his senses focused on her, though, so he could feel everything that was occurring with her body while she was inside.

Caroline withdrew to retrieve her grandfather as she left Victoria in the living room. An unintelligible arguing was heard, but she ignored it. She felt somewhat at home in the small residence, but scowled anyways.

When she heard the soft screeching of wheels, however, her face it up and she turned around in her seat, facing the old, wrinkled man being pushed towards her in a wheelchair.

She smiled politely at the bald man, standing as he entered the room. "Good morning, Mister Adkins. My name is Victoria A-"

"I don't care what your name is, girl, just give me my tea, Caroline," He rasped at the one steering him. She grumbled a 'yes, Grandpapa' before crossing the room to the small kitchen.

Victoria continued to smile, but took her seat again. "Mister Adkins, I would like to ask you a series of questions about-"

"Where's my tea, Caroline?" he cut her off, making the girl bite her cheek to keep her composure.

"Just a minute, Grandpapa!" shouted the young woman from the other room. She reentered the room with a small cup and plate, handing it to her grandfather.

"As I was saying-"

"Why is there no milk, Caroline?" he spat at the one above him.

She leaned down and said sternly, "You can't have any milk, Grandpapa. It's bad for your health."

He growled back at her, "You never let me have anything good, Caroline. I don't care about my health. I'll be dead soon enough anyways."

"Mister Adkins, if I could just-" Victoria tried again.

"Not now, young one. Now give me some damn milk for my tea, Caroline!" he snapped at her. Victoria bit her cheek harder, resisting the unrelenting urge to order Lucas to kill him.

"Miss Angelus is talking to you, Grandpapa. Listen," She hissed. He fell silent, leaning toward her.

"Angelus, you say?" he mumbled.

Victoria finally released her abused flesh from her teeth and resumed her respectful smile. "Yes, Sir. I am Jonathon Angelus' niece. Do you remember anything of when you were employed by him?"

Jasper grumbled and sat back, handing his cup back to his granddaughter. "I remember Lord Angelus, alright. I served him and his family for almost fifteen years."

She eased her raging nerves and asked calmly, "Good. What can you tell me about them?"

He wheezed a stifled laugh and tapped his fingers against the armrest on his wheelchair in recollection. "I remember how kind he and his wife were to the staff. We were more like working houseguests than servants while serving Lord Angelus. All of us servants were given nice furniture, excellence food, and we often played golf or chess together. Out of all the families I served over my lifetime, I was closest to them. I would never had guessed that they would go so quickly…"

"Were there any members of the staff who were not fond of either Mister or Missus Angelus?"

He shook his hairless head. "No, we were all very loyal to the both of them. Their son wasn't that bad either. A little boring for a kid, maybe, but they were never mean to any of us."

"Well did they have any enemies?"

He thought for a minute, filing through his failing memory. "I don't think so. There wasn't a person alive who disliked them, other than rivaling companies, but I can't think of anyone in particular who would want to do something drastic to them."

She vacillated a moment before asking him her next question. "Are either name Sophia or Lushire of any importance?'

His eyes lit up at the mention of said names, "Why, yes, they both ring a bell. They are the same person. Madam Sophia Lushire."

Victoria inclined over the armrest, careful not to spill her tea. "What do you remember about this Sophia Lushire, Mister Adkins?" she said softly.

"Well," he murmured, "I never got properly acquainted with her, considering she was quite an unpleasant person. However, I remember overhearing something concerning a profit. It might have been a bribe, but I can't be sure. I believe she was British, but her reason for associating herself with my master is unknown to me."

"Did she mention anything about where she lived?" she asked.

Jasper closed his eyes in concentration but was to no avail. "I don't remember."

"Please, Mister Adkins, you must try."

"Don't strain yourself, Grandpapa," Caroline reminded him.

He sighed and bowed his head, lightly shaking it. "I don't recall an address, but Mayfair might have been brought up in their argument."

Victoria downed her tea in just a few sips, gagging at the astringent taste. "Is that all you remember of her?"

"I'm afraid so. This withered old mind isn't of any help to anyone," he heaved another long sigh.

"You were plenty helpful, Mister Adkins," Victoria ensured him. He looked away from her, an expression caught between doubt and sorrow etched across his face. "I will do what I can with this information."

"If I were there, would things have been different?" he wondered allowed.

"Pardon me?" Victoria inquired.

"Or would I have been killed like the rest of them?"

"Oh, Grandpapa…" Caroline whispered.

"If only I was there to help them when they were… They shouldn't have…" tears formed in his eyes as he breathed heavily, holding his head in his bony hands.

"Grandpapa," Caroline cried, bending down to hold his back. "I think that's enough for him today." She said to Victoria.

She placed her teacup on her chair, giving a small curtsy to the two. "That is all I require. Thank you for cooperating, Mister Adkins. Good day, Caroline."

"Promise me something," he called out once she reached the door, "Promise me that once you catch the son of a bitch who killed my master and mistress, you'll come straight to me and tell me."

Victoria looked at him tentatively before letting out an amused huff, "I swear on my very soul."

Lucas opened the door for his mistress and handed her the lacy umbrella she used as a cane. "Have you what you came for, My Lady?" he asked as she walked straight ahead of him.

"Yes. We shall be returning to the hotel at once, as to contact Lord Angelus." She stopped in front of the carriage to let her butler open the door for her.

"And then?" he helped her in, closing the door behind her. He then traveled to the other side and stepped into the small box.

"Then," she answered, "We set sail to England."

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_A/N: Yet another chapter done! __Heh, it was slightly awkward writing swear words ^.^'. __Yes, it's not as good as I expected either, but hey, she got her information and now she has a name and a place! I thought add in a little about the flavor of souls to demons. It was pretty fun to write about!  
_

_Now I thank you all who continue reading, but I'd like to see some reviews! I'll be introducing another character next chapter so I at least want _one_ review other than from my Sempai. I'll still upload even if I don't, but come on! I've read the statistics, I know you people read this! I'm dying to know what you think! If you can read it you can review it =_=. But, rant over, thank you for reading! _


	6. Chapter 6: Taken

_A/N: A new chapter, a new character! This will be the introduction of the third victim. We are abandoning the first team to move onto our second! Her occurrence will probably be too big to fit into just one chapter, so I might have to split it up into two. Well, let's see how it goes!_

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Black Butler III

Chapter 6: Taken

Darkness.

Inky blackness engulfed everything she knew, everything she loved.

Running faster, harder, down the everlasting hallway, trying to escape the darkness gaining behind her, threatening to consume her entire being.

At the end of the corridor was what she longed to reach. But with every step she took, they were another step away from her.

"Momma," she screamed as she reached out her hand, only to lose her footing and stumble, falling down onto the patterned carpet. "Anne!" tears streamed down her face as the five of them only stared at her, her mirror image pitifully glaring as her helpless cries traveled barely past her own lips.

The overwhelming darkness swallowed her small frame, her clothes soaked with blood, sweat, and tears. Her shaking fingers clawed at the rug as the last inch of her skin was painted with black.

"Madam," she heard. Her eyes flew open at the intrusion of light in her bedroom. "It is time to wake up, Your Ladyship. You have a long day ahead of you," She sat up, wiping the beads of precipitation away from her bangs. Her long, flowing hair fell over her slender shoulder and onto the crisp white sheets of the queen sized bed. "Another nightmare, Madam?"

She flinched at his words but nodded lightly, fixing her nightgown and tossing the thick covers off her body. She scooted to the edge of the bed, waiting for her butler to finish pouring her morning tea. "What am I having today?" she asked, pinching a lock of bright orange hair between her fingers, bringing it to her mouth.

"A Chinese herb blend, Yunman, which will be accompanied by an omelet and toast in the dining room," He glanced up at her through tresses of dark brown hair, jade eyes narrowing. "You shouldn't suck on your hair, Madam. It is both unsanitary and unhealthy." He received a glare from her chocolaty eyes as she released the damp curls from her mouth and took the Blue Chintz teacup from him.

"Would you like to hear your schedule, Madam?" he asked before entering the walk-in closet just a few feet away.

"No," she simply answered, getting an odd look from the man who returned with her clothes for the day. "Cancel everything."

"But Your Ladyship," he insisted, "You cannot possibly postpone any of the events planned for today. You have several meetings, including some with businessmen and Lady Evans. It would be im-"

"I said cancel everything," her voice was woven with bitterness, despite the grin on her face. "I'm feeling rather sluggish, so _I'll_ decide what I want to do today."

"As you wish, Madam." With a reluctantly gracious bow of the head, he retrieved the silverware and withdrew from his mistress's bedchamber.

She watched him take his leave, sipping from the satisfyingly bitter tea. She took a final gulp and left the cup on its plate by her bedside.

Hopping from the mattress, she walked to her bathroom to ready herself before her maid came to dress her. She turned the bronze nozzle, letting water from pipes travel up and out of the faucet. It fascinated her – the process of piping systems to transport water from place to place. In the recent remodeling of the house they had them installed in every bathroom and both kitchens for her.

After it was filled to the proper height, she turned off the torrent of water. Reaching into the bowl, she splashed her face with several waves of the cool liquid; rubbing her face clean of the sweat she shed last night. She grabbed for the small towel on the vanity, wiping her face. She looked up above the towel at the image in the mirror.

Her bright eyes turned foggy as she combed her fingers through the shining waves of orange. The way her soggy hair clung to her face reminded her of the state she was in three years before.

How disappointed she was in her parents, how devastated she was in their decision. They chose money over her when her life was at stake; they betrayed their own daughter for their precious fortune.

Her family ran a bread and pastry making company in London, England. They lived in a large manor near the city, but her father was almost always away to run the business at the main shop in Mayfair. Her family had run this company for several generations before her father took over after her grandpa died. Levi and his wife were then titled as the new viscount and lady of her family, but their heritage did not last long.

Her parents were discussing some boring murder case in the newspaper when she left the house without an escort. She only wanted to go outside to play. She saw no danger in what she was doing.

Running off to the garden, she skipped merrily in the cool British weather, enjoying the flowers' first bloom. A rustling in the bushes within the tall pines caught her attention.

Her curiosity led her to scampering off into the forest, unaware of what lie behind the cover of the woods. More rustling sounded before she was snatched into the arms of an unknown person from behind. She was only an eleven-year-old girl; how could she have fought back, what with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other over her mouth. She wasn't entirely stupid; she thought to bite down on her captor, but a damp cloth that began to make her increasingly tired quickly replaced the hand.

The last thing she remembered before everything went black is being tossed in the back of a car.

Minutes, hours, and days – she couldn't be sure how long it was until she finally awoke from her deep sleep. Her lids still hid her conscious eyes, but she could feel and hear everything going on around her. She was laying on the cold, hard ground, her wrists bound behind her back as well as her ankles to each other. A gag was lazily stuffed into her mouth and her whole body felt tingly and numb.

"What is this?" faintly said a deep voice.

"It's the kid you wanted, Sir," Replied a young man in a dense tone, this time a bit louder and clearer.

"No, I said I wanted the little one."

"Well, is there a difference?"

"This one is too old. I doubt we'll get anything out of her," he said to the second, "Lady Cross will not be happy if this plan fails."

"Well Boss," said another voice, "It's still there daughter so she should get what she wants, right?"

There were a few moments of hesitation before the first one spoke up again, "If this does not turn out exactly as she wants, you two will be thoroughly punished."

She felt her heart racing in her chest, her jaw shuddering against the fabric in her mouth. She was kidnapped. Not only was she taken from her family, but also her captors were planning on ransoming her parents in exchange for her return. Questions raced through her mind but she needed to focus on getting her body to move first. She wriggled her fingers and toes then the rest of her limbs until she slowly opened her eyes to three blurry figures in front of her.

"Ah, look, the little lass is waking up," Said one of the three disorientating images.

"I must leave. Take care of this, and don't let the child escape," The tallest of the three spoke before striding out of her range and leaving through a door.

Her vision became less foggy as she moved her head side to side. She could finally look at the two dirty young men leaning against the brick wall contiguous from her position. Fully widening her eyes, she murmured against the gag, trying to get as much air as she could only through her nose.

"Good morning, your ladyness," Said the golden haired one sitting on the ground. She screamed and struggled against her restraints, her chest heaving with each thrust of her body.

"Wondering where you are?" the standing brunette laughed. She yelled into the damp cloth again, vision becoming once again foggy with tears. She nodded against the rigid stone.

"Don't hyperventrulate now, little lass. You're somewhere safe," The blond reassured her.

"It's _hyperventilate_, you moron," The brunette corrected with a roll of the eyes.

"Oh. Well anyways, don't hurt yourself. Or else we'll be in big trouble." An idea came to her head as she stopped her struggles against the tight bonds.

If her well-being was vital, then maybe she could get them to release her from the bonds if she did something drastic…

She began to trash about again, shrieking and bawling whilst smashing her head against the stone beneath. It was not the best nor safest of ideas, but it certainly got the attention of the two across from her.

"What are you doin'? Stop that!" They both rushed for her, taking her flaying body and sitting her upright. It wasn't what she wanted them to do, but it was a start. Certainly better than having half of her face shoved into the ground. She looked up at them, muttering something into the material tied around her head.

"What was that?" the blond leaned in closer to her, the brunette following. She uttered another incoherent group of words, this time louder.

"We can't hear you, ladyness." The second said before reaching forward and relieving her sore skin from the chafing fabric.

"Why am I here?" she weeped, her head still throbbing from the abuse it received.

"Well, the bosses need you in order to get the goods," The blond stated.

"Shut up, Nick," The other hissed at him.

"What goods?" she demanded.

"Well I'm not entirely sure, but it has somethin' to do with-" He answered before the brunette's hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him.

"I said shut up, Nick! You can't tell her any information about Lady Cross's intentions!" he harshly whispered.

"Who is Lady Cross?" she insisted, malice and fear was stitched into her voice.

"No one that you should worry about right now, your ladyness," He said with a roguish smile. She narrowed her eyes at him, gritting her teeth.

He released his friend's mouth and crossed the room together, taking something off the tabletop at the far end of the room. Grabbing a gaming board, they sat several feet across from her and laid out their game.

The two played Tiddlywinks for hours as she watched on, occasionally muffling a sob or plotting how to escape. "It's red," she said a little while after she awoke from a nap when thinking up her will, "You can't wink."

"Hey, we don't tell you how to not get kidnapped, so don't tell us how to play the game," The brunette snapped at her.

"You're right, little lass, it is red. That means the game is mine, Ryan," Nick laughed as he gathered all the discs in the pot. The other seethed at the redhead but insisted on another round. She would not have minded watching them play again, but a particular aching in her stomach made her speak up.

"I'm hungry," She plainly stated. Ryan glanced over at her but made no move to get up.

"Go get her some gruel and bread, Nick," He muttered, tossing a blue disc in the little pot.

"Commoners' food?" she furrowed her brow in disgust.

"You're the victim here, ladyness. You eat what we feed you," Ryan scolded. "Go get the food, Nick." He sighed and pushed himself off the ground, leaving to another room for a few minutes.

He came back with a bowl and a small slice of bread, as well as a rusty spoon. He placed the food in front of her, going back to his original spot adjacent to where she sat.

"How do you expect me to eat with no hands?" she said, glaring up with her head bowed to the bowl.

"Oh, let me untie the ropes." Nick got up again before Ryan grabbed his arm.

"What, are you an idiot? You can't do that! Hand feed her."

"What?" the blond demanded, "No way, I took her to the chamber-pot, you shove food in her mouth. I ain't doin' it."

She watched as the two quietly bickered amongst themselves for several minutes, occasionally giving her sideways glances with every rushed word they muttered. Eventually, after three rounds of rock paper scissors and many smacks to each other, Ryan picked up the quickly cooling bowl of porridge and sat cross-legged in front of the orange-haired girl.

With a sigh, he lifted the spoon to her mouth, probing at her lips to push past her tightly enclosed mouth. "Come on, little lady, open up! You don't want to die of starvation, now do you?" he mocked, following her head as it turned side to side.

"Why-" she began before the metal was shoved into her mouth, dumping its vestiges onto her tongue. She coughed as the spoon left, gagging at the appalling taste of the commoners' food running down her throat. He scooped up another spoonful of gruel, bringing it to her mouth once again. Into her orifice went the thick stew, causing another series of coughs from the bonded girl.

"Stop," she shouted, panting to regain her breath and struggling not to expel the porridge back out. "This slop is absolutely intolerable! Feed me the bread instead." She huffed; refusing to let any more of the paste enter her body.

"Now, now, your ladyness! Just bread isn't very nutritious; you need some gruel too! So here comes the train~," he teased, twisting and looping the spoon until it got to her mouth again. A venomous intent entered her mind as she slacked her jaw, just to snap her head out and clamp it closed on something other than the food.

"_Ouch_," cried Ryan, releasing the spoon and holding his bleeding hand against his chest, "Have some manners when someone's keeping you from starving, you damn brat!" he stood, springing his foot back and striking it against her cheek, sending her body flying back onto its side. The brunette stared venomously at her, walking to leave the room to patch up his wound.

She clenched her jaw in pain; mirroring the spiteful look he gave her as her cheek swelled.

"Feed that spoiled little brat her food while I get a bandage," He muttered to his staring blond accomplice. Nick watched him leave then fixed his gaze on the trembling girl across the room. He slowly stood, crossing over to her still figure.

"Um…" he reached a hand out to her shoulder, taking a hold of her limp body and bringing it up to its original position. She looked up with teary half-lidded eyes "Are you alright, little lass?" he asked gently, receiving a scowl from her. No response was made, just a chilling stare with rage-filled eyes.

"Well, would you like the rest of your food?" he coughed, lifting the slice of bread from the dirty stones. Still no response.

"Would you like to end up like he did?" she retorts, choking back the sob she wanted to release from inside.

"No…" he replied, putting the bread back on the floor.

"Then why don't you untie these straps, then I can feed myself." She suggested with a sly smile.

He shook his head quickly, giving her a pitiful look. "Nah, I can't do that, little lass. Ryan told me not to."

She frowned once again, tilting her head to the side. "My feet are still bound – it's not like I can run away."

"Still…"

"My arms are terribly stiff, and then I could feed myself and save you time. I won't hurt you, I promise."

He considered her offer for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows in thought. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt if just your hands are released…" he murmured.

_Strike, _she thought with a straight face, though she was grinning with relief inside. "Then please undo the straps now, Mister Nick."

He reached behind her, undoing the fastenings and releasing her wrists from their restraints. The rest, though, was black for him. A blow to the skull by her fist sent his head flying towards the stone below, knocking him unconscious with a sickening thud.

"Sorry, Nick," She uttered. She quickly reached down to unbuckle the straps binding her ankles, hopping up and running to the opposite door from the one that lead to where Ryan was, quietly opening and closing it behind her.

She shielded her face from the bright sunlight, adjusting her eyes to the new brightness. Looking around, she found that she was in the wilderness. She didn't wait to find a direction to go in, however, but ran straight forward into the thick trees without giving it a second thought.

For several minutes she ran, her low-heeled boots making it difficult to tread over the roots and holes in the ground. She kicked an especially tall root, hurling her towards the mud. Coughing and standing back up, she continued clambering across the forest, finding a bundle of houses some time later. Tears formed in her eyes again as she saw the rest of the buildings beginning to form in the distance.

She entered the small town exhausted, her casual clothing wrinkled and covered in dirt, her hair matted and messy. "Excuse me-" she said to one of the women passing by. She didn't stop, though; she didn't even glance at her. Another villager came by her she traveled more to the center of town. "Mister, please-" he also ignored her, going about his business without even meeting her eye.

Her heart sank a little more as she ran further into the streets and shops, pleading for anyone to listen to her. With every person she talked to, however, she either got no response or was pushed aside and insulted.

Tears began to stream down her face as she sank to her knees by one of the bakeries whose owner refused to let her in, calling her a dirty rat. She brought her hands to her face and openly wept, receiving no reaction from the passersby. _Why do they ignore me?_ She thought sorrowfully.

"Hey," said a boy's voice. She looked up at the one with light blond hair and azure eyes who was kneeling down in front of her, a worried expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat, dropping her head. "I'm very hurt and lost," She sobbed. "Can you please help me?"

He smiled warmly at her, standing and offering his hand to her. She took it and stood herself, wiping her wet face with her sleeve.

"I'm afraid I'm lost too, but I can still help you," He said. She gave him a small smile and sniffled.

"What's your name?" she asked quietly, her voice quivering.

He stuck his hand out to her again. "I'm Jim. What's yours?"

She hesitated but shook his hand. "My name is Madeline. Madeline Lushire."

* * *

_A/N: Aaaand that's a good place to end the chapter. My mind is kind of jumbled up lately, so my writing isn't as good as I'd like. Anyways, my friend Madalyn's character finally comes into the story! I tried to portray her as both normal and logical, but sometimes one kind of overlapped the other. Either way, her personality will be better refined in the next few chapters, so don't just go complaining about it right now! A lot of clues from past chapters, and foreshadowing for future ones, appeared here and they're pretty dang obvious. And this really isn't a good chapter for me, as you can see how the writing worsened from the beginning to the end. Oh well. Part two of this story will come up next, so please comment on your thoughts so far! Thank you for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7: Escape

_A/N: Ohmigosh I am sooooo sorry this chapter came out so late! Please, please, please forgive me! DX I've had a HUGE writers block. I got like, halfway through this chapter then every time I pulled up Word, my mind just went completely blank. . I'm just so glad I'm out of the block and can start writing again. I can't wait to just finish this chapter and move on to more plot. Alright, enough of my excuses! To make up for lost time, here is an extra long chapter AND the first few character pictures! You can find them at my profile on Deviantart, Keymaster1. So, chapter seven!_

* * *

Black Butler III

Chapter 7: Escape

She shifted her weight on the hard wooden planks as she hugged her legs against her chest, cradling her heavy head on her bruised knees. Her back was supported by one of the many bags full of envelopes sitting idly throughout the back of the wagon. Her cheek was still throbbing horribly, and had swelled painfully large.

The pain didn't affect her as much as it should have, though. She was once again distracted, finding herself getting lost in thoughts of her family. They were probably devastated, having called the police hours ago. Her mother would be crying her heart out into Madeline's aunt's shoulder as her father argued with the sheriff about her whereabouts. Her baby sister Ellie would be confused over the situation, most likely asking Madeline's sobbing twin where she was. Her older brother would be sitting quietly in the corner, waiting for his little sister to pop out of another room like they were playing hide-and-seek.

But what if Madeline didn't make it back? She had already gotten a ride back to London and she was constantly assuring herself that she would be fine; she would be reunited with her family again. But deep in her heart, she felt the suffocating constriction of doubt. She wasn't sure what exactly she doubted, but the unfathomable heaviness of death and destruction whispered threats inside her head.

"But London can't be too far away…" she muttered to herself, her light voice shaking with exhaustion. "I might even get home in time for supper. Yes… Momma and Papa will shower me in kisses and Max will actually tell me how much he missed me. We'll have my favorite food – a nice fricassee with spicy rice. There will be freshly baked rolls with sweet cream butter and a delicious soufflé for dessert. After dinner we'll have hot chocolate by the fire as Mama reads us a bedtime story," she smiled sadly at the thought, but that irritating inner voice kept telling her otherwise.

You think you'll get off that easily? Something horribly wrong will happen, you'll see.

"Shut up!" she yelled at herself, silencing herself with a slap to the mouth just as she said this. She remembered she had to stay quiet as not to alert the coachmen of her presence.

The events leading up to her escape had been almost too much for poor young Madeline's mind to take all at once. She was but a small child, merely gaining consciousness of her actions as she preformed them. She barely managed to keep her composure while trapped in that windowless little shack with those idiots, but then fleeing to a village where every adult treated her like trash almost made her completely break down. If it had not been for the kind boy who helped her, she wouldn't have made it as far as she did.

. . .

Madeline and Jim returned to a little underground shack that he led her to. She calmed her nerves, finding that underneath the earth was the safest place at the moment. He presented her with half a small loaf of bread, to which she gladly received.

Jim revealed that he and his brother had been bullied by the villagers of that town his whole life due to being an orphan, so the fact that she was rejected and shunned by the adults was not unexpected because of her filthy clothes. Although he seemed to be cheerful when sharing his story, the blonde's voice was tinged with a deep sadness.

Madeline pitied his situation, despite her being in a worse one at the moment. She had a family and lived a rich lifestyle, while a poor orphaned boy offered her half of the dinner he stole for his brother and himself.

"This is so exciting," Jim cheered, giving the redhead a grin, "I've never had a friend before!" She felt her stomach twist in grief as he said that. She felt tears well in her eyes again but blinked them away, fondling the bread between her fingers.

"I'm glad to be with a friend as well," she answered hesitantly.

"Anyways," he crossed the room to sit on a mat in the corner, motioning for her to join him. She slowly followed his path with shaking legs, lowering herself to the ground next to him. "What happened you, Madeline?"

She bit her lip, burrowing her fingers into the hard crust of the bread. It's not as though she didn't trust Jim, or didn't want to share her story, but each time she thought about it she could feel bile and sadness rise in her throat.

She swallowed dryly, trying desperately to relax her constricting throat. "I," she started, "I was kidnapped." Jim stared at her, his expression changing from concern to anger.

"Who kidnapped you?" he demanded, startling Madeline. She lower lip trembled as she shook her head, dropping the bread to bring her hands to her face.

"I don't know," she sobbed, "I was just at home when suddenly I was taken." He remained silent, but she could feel him scrutinizing her as she covered her grimy face to fight back another wave of tears.

"I want to go home, Jim," she impeded her reluctance to cry, burying her head deeper into lap as her nails dug into her head, just needing to grasp onto something to keep her from losing herself completely.

She jumped a little when she felt a warm arm wrap around her back, embracing her in a comforting hug. "It'll be alright, Madeline. I'm here to help."

She looked up at his heartening smile, finding herself return the friendly gesture. "Th-thank you."

She released him from her strong hold, feeling just a little less alone. Sniffling, she brought her sleeves to her eyes to wipe away the tears she shed.

"Where do you live, Madeline?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the cold ground, filling the room with a different sound than just her sobs. She watched them bounce up and down in a constantly smooth pattern, pacing her breathing to match the rate of the recoiling of the small appendages.

"I live in London," she answered calmly. Jim grinned brightly, clenching his fists in excitement.

"The big city where the Queen is? Wow! That must be so amazing!" Madeline smiled gently at his enthusiasm.

"Yes. I really wish to return," she mumbled, once again imagining their worried faces.

There was silence for a minute as Jim stared at her sadly. "Are you sure you don't want to stay with me? It's their faults that you got taken away; you shouldn't want to go back to them."

She blinked blankly at him, frowning with equal forlornness. "They are not at fault. It was my foolish mistake – leaving the manor without an escort."

"But when you leave, it'll just be Luka and me. You're my only friend…" he pleaded, leaning closer to her.

She turned away, feeling her stomach being gnawed at again. "I'm sorry, Jim. But I have to return to my family. The villagers here are cruel and I'm certain my kidnappers are looking for me."

She felt an eerie sensation in her chest and glanced back at the one beside her. Her heart leapt up into her throat when she saw Jim with his brows furrowed. His eyes were the same crystal blue as before, but somehow, they were different. Like in the depths of the chilling azure was darkness deeper than black itself.

"I'll kill them all one day," he said coolly, sending a wave of fear through Madeline. "You're right, they are cruel. They all deserve to die."

She swallowed back the panic rising in her throat. "…I would like that…" she whispered, feeling horrified by what she admitted. She was not referring to the town as one, but the spiteful adults who pushed her roughly onto the cobblestone, denied her help and affronted her, and kept her tied up in a cold, dark shack.

Jim grinned again, nodding vigorously. "I'll make sure it happens!" Madeline returned the smile gently and stood.

There was a slight pause, before Madeline spoke again. "Jim, where is this place?"

"Oh, the village's name is Stanwood. Luka and I only ever keep towards the edge of town, so I don't really know where exactly we are."

"Oh," she muttered, fondling the rolls in her dress. "Where is your brother?"

"Luka is down by the bluebell field just a little ways away. He'll be safe there. I was on my way to snatch a fish or two from a store before I came across you."

She nodded, directing her attention back to the fabric beneath her palm.

"Would you like to meet him?" he grinned.

"No," she said a little too harshly, "I'm sure I've spent much too long lingering here. I have to return." The boy narrowed his eyes and considered her for a moment before he pushed himself off the ground.

He passed her edgily, ignoring her pleading eyes as he began to climb the ladder.

"Wh-where are you going?" she implored. He threw open the door leading up to the surface, beginning to climb out without acknowledging Madeline. She scurried across the room to join him above only to have the square, wooden entrance slammed into its hinges. She stared up in perplexity for several seconds. Stepping up a few planks, she pushed on the door above her. It wouldn't budge. Second and third attempts proved to show that with just her strength, it wouldn't open. Sinking to her knees, she felt tears well up once again.

_He left. He just left me here all alone._

Her assumption was contradicted by the creaking of it swinging open to reveal Jim gaping down at her, light beaming around his light blonde hair. "Don't just sit there, come on out. It's safe," he swished his hand towards him, signaling for her to come. She blinked at the light and nodded silently, clambering up the steps with difficulty.

"Follow me," he mumbled, grabbing Madeline's wrist and beginning to guide her out of the barren street.

"Where are you taking me?" she stumbled behind him with shaky legs as he dashed off.

"Stay quiet," he glanced behind his shoulder at her before sharply turning another corner.

Several minutes of blindly scampering from street to street had brought them to a bustling roundabout lined with shops and businesses. Dozens of civilians scurried about, paying no mind to the dirty children as they took care of their business.

Madeline whipped her head violently in all directions, watching for the brunette who was sure to be tracking her down.

"It's alright, Madeline," Jim reassured her, "We're here. You're safe now." She panted through a grateful smile, trying frantically to rest her nerves.

"How am I going to leave?"

"Well-"

"_**You,**_" seethed a disturbingly familiar voice behind them. Madeline felt her heart stop as she turned to face Ryan, his hand bandaged and eyes glazed with fury.

"It's him," she whispered.

"Come," without hesitation Jim clasped her hand within his and dashed off, dragging her alongside. Although she couldn't see, the paranoia of the man's pursuit caused fear to once again invade her mind and poison her senses.

Jim yanked her around the circle of shops to the post office and behind one of the wagons filled with bags, still gripping her fingers tightly with his own. Her heart beat frantically as they halted, while the blonde was barely breaking a sweat.

"Why are we stopped?" she pleaded, pulling harshly on his hand, "He's coming, please!"

"Shush," he spat, ducking her head low and peering over the orange locks. He knelt down beside her, taking hold of her shaking hand once again, his grasp gentle and comforting.

"Look, Madeline," he whispered, gazing sternly into her terrified eyes, "I'm going to help you out of here, just do what I say."

She hesitated, staring back and forth from the crystal orbs of blue, finding only honest determination. Swallowing back the terror swelling in her mouth, she nodded her head slowly in response.

He looked around at the wagons lined up in groups surrounding them before giving her a reassuring pat on the hand. He lifted her up to her feet, beginning to walk away from their position on the cobblestone.

"There you are," they heard. Madeline turned swiftly to be met with the chest of a tall man. She darted her eyes up at his face, contorted with anger, staring down at her. He snatched her shoulder painfully within his grasp, but she couldn't move away. Her mouth dropped open slightly as if to scream, but she remained silent as if paralyzed.

"Let go of her!" Jim yelled, and suddenly her tender skin was released as Ryan bent over swiftly to hold his bruised shin. She was once again tugged off in another direction, unbeknownst to her where she was going, but not resisting Jim's pull.

Ryan's screams for their return were ignored as they sprinted away, navigating their way around the vehicles to get as much distance between the three of them as possible. Harshly pushing her against the back of a wagon, Jim leaned his head over the wheel briefly. He turned back to her, grasping her shoulders gently to get her attention.

"Madeline, I promised I'd get you out of here. Do you trust me?" She resisted the urge to glance around for their pursuer, keeping her eyes locked with Jim's. Her teeth clattered in fear, her shoulders shaking under the others gentle hold.

Madeline had just met this boy; she knew that it wouldn't be safe to have faith in the plan of an uneducated commoner. She had known him for maybe thirty minutes; so to put her life in his hands would be dangerous. He had not been careful enough to evade her chaser, so to let him lead her in a plan to escape would be risky. This was a small child against a full-grown adult.

But then again, she had been following him all along. Throughout all the minutes, hours, days, she had been in captivity; this was the one person who had acknowledged her pain, sated her hunger, and comforted away her fears. Madeline had been putting faith in him all along. Not Jim specifically, but God. She trusted that he would send a savior down to save her, and the angel-faced boy in front of her was his doing. While she was tied up and watching the two devils play games, Madeline prayed that she would be returned to her family, that everything would go back to normal. This would be her last chance at survival, so to reject the pure-hearted intentions of the angel that was attempting to help her would be to reject her God's wish for her life.

Clenching her hands, she took a deep breath, "Yes, Jim," she whispered. His eyes softened in what she would assume to be relief of her acceptance, and he maneuvered to crouch next to her.

"Do you see on the far side of the lot over there? Where that small building is?" he pointed to the large vacant area of the lot where a single wagon stood. "They've just finished loading that wagon up with mail. It should be leaving any second. This is one that goes to London, so it shouldn't be too difficult to sneak in just as it's leaving. They don't lock the doors before they take off, so just rush inside before he finds you."

Madeline blinked at his instructions. "How do you know all of that?"

He gave her a small smile, "I just do." Jim stood one last time with Madeline, "Alright, now you'll run over when I cue you, okay?"

"W-wait, you're coming with me, right?" she stared desperately at him.

"I'm sorry, I can't. You'll have to go alone."

She bit her quivering lip and nodded. Eyes glazing over the tops of the carts one last time, the redhead waited for Jim's signal to escape. Two men came out from around the opposite side of the wagon, shutting the wooden doors on the back of the cart before they leisurely strolled to the main office several meters away.

"Alright, Madeline. Run. Now!" he gave her back a gentle push.

The lead that was once weighing down her legs vanished as she unconsciously sprinted forward, leaving the safety of Jim's side to rush towards the freedom awaiting her. Even as she heard a shout behind her, she still kept her steadfast pace to reach the cart just feet away.

Upon reaching it, Madeline grabbed the handles on either door. _This is it, _she thought. _I'll finally be able to go home. _All of the suffering she endured, the kicks she received, and the agonizing fear she experienced in the last day would all disappear as she climbed into the wagon. The hours of praying and waiting in the shack with Nick and Ryan, the comforting conversation with Jim, the long run across town to flee her kidnappers. The longest day of her life would end as she entered the wagon that would take her home and away from this village. With a relieved sigh, Madeline tugged harshly at the handles, her heart fluttering with joy.

Nothing happened.

She pulled again, this time with more force. Still, the doors didn't budge. Madeline's eyes widened with panic and she yanked at the handles vigorously, only halting when a shadow engulfed her. She turned swiftly, pressing her back against the wagon doors to cower underneath Ryan's towering form. He had cornered her once again, anger radiating from him. He stepped forward, pulling his hand back to strike her. Madeline gasped and closed her eyes, holding her hands against her face to prepare herself for the blow that was to come.

An audible shout and thump caused Madeline to flinch. She tore her hands from her face to see Ryan on his back, a small figure straddling him. Madeline watched in shock as Jim struggled to keep the man down. Curses were murmured as Ryan shoved the boy back off his chest, standing up and stamping his foot down on the blonde's neck. He gasped for air, clenching his hands around the other's ankle and kicking his legs around in fright.

Madeline watched on, slack-jawed, as Jim thrashed about underneath the boot strangling him, squeezing the life out of his very being. Her mind shouted at her legs to move, to push the abuser off of him, but she stayed perfectly still, unable to act upon her will. Tears welled in her eyes as the smaller form's movements became less lively. She wanted dreadfully to help him as he helped her, but her mind swarmed with doubts and fears and so many contradicting thoughts that her head hurt.

Jim shakily reached his hand around the ground, wrapping his fingers around a particularly large chunk of rock. He suddenly retracted his arm, arching his fist into the toes of the foot grinding him into the ground.

Ryan cried out in pain, immediately jumping off the boy and falling back to grasp his foot. Jim hopped up, panting heavily as he fell forward onto his assailant, bringing them both to the gravel once again. Grabbing half of the man's wrists in his own petite hand, Jim lifted his other elbow above his head, pulling in his fingers so that his index and middle finger were pointing towards Ryan's face.

Face contorted with wrath, Jim's eyes darkened to the same shade as when he vowed to kill all of the villagers. This time however, a malicious smile spread across his face, giving off an aura that could scare even grown men, in which it did.

"Everyone is rotten… Everyone deserves to die… _I will kill you all,_" he hissed between pants. Ryan was knocked speechless and motionless by this line, his wide eyes wandering from Jim's face to his threatening fingers as the other small palm covered his mouth.

Madeline felt sickness rise in her throat at the disturbingly wet sound that was made as Jim's fingers thrust down into Ryan's eye socket. An agonizing muffled scream escaped through the pale fingers before Jim was sent flying away from his victim.

He rushed towards the stunned redhead, ignoring the hisses of pain coming through clenched teeth behind him. He gently but quickly pushed her aside, tugging harshly at the doors and managing to open them.

"Come on, get in," he ushered her into the back of the wagon sitting her so that he could slip the doors closed behind her.

"Jim, you could come with me," Madeline suggested, her voice shaking, "We could leave together, and you could escape this horrid place."

He took her hand, his azure orbs back to their normal shade of kindness. "I'm sorry, Madeline. I would love to run away, but I just can't. I can't leave Luka, and I'm sure someone has heard us. I'll have to take care of this guy before anyone comes over."

The noble squeezed his hand in return, feeling her heart wrench in sadness. "I understand. Please know that I will never be able to thank you enough for what you have done for me today, Jim. I promise, one day I'll repay you for your deed."

"Alright, Madeline. We'll meet again one day, when I'm old enough to leave the village on my own," He smiled reassuringly. Voices were heard coming from the post office. "You have to leave now, Madeline."

She briskly scooted back into the cart; looking up at Jim one last time before he closed the doors, "I'll always remember you!" she said sadly, forcing a weak smile.

"You too," he returned the grin before the light that was haloing around Jim's angelic face dissipated into blackness.

Madeline backed up into a bag of envelopes, holding her knees against her chest. Everything was silent for several minutes.

Suddenly, the wagon started shaking and propelled forward. _He did it, _Madeline thought, relief spreading through her muscles, _Jim managed to get away with Ryan. I can finally go home…_

She buried her face into her dress, allowing a rush of sobs to quake her body. Madeline was on her way home at last. God had answered her prayers.

. . .

Madeline awoke with a start, her entire body aching from sleeping on the wooden planks of the wagon. They had finally stopped, but there was no way of knowing where she was or what the time was. That is, until the doors ahead of her swung open to show the sun sitting on the horizon before it was covered by two faces standing in front of the redhead.

"Hey," one of them called, reaching in and grasping her arm, "Get out, you filthy rat!"

She barely had time to think as the man yanked her harshly out of the cart and onto the hard stone ground. She held her hand out to cushion her fall, landing on her palm and twisting it back. Madeline sat up, holding her wrist to her chest. She grimaced up at the two forms, slowly getting to her feet.

"Should we bring her to the police?" one of them asked the other.

"Nah, she's pathetic enough," he answered, giving her a harsh kick in the stomach. She doubled over, panting as she sat on the stone.

"Whatever," the first one scoffed, giving her a kick of his own.

Madeline clenched her teeth in pain, her breaths shallow as she took the abuse. Standing once again, she stumbled away from the wagon. Looking around at her surroundings, she noticed that she was in a city.

She wondered if she was finally in London, wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk, clutching her throbbing wrist. Perhaps she could walk down to Mayfair and see if her father was working there. She didn't bother asking the people passing by for help; her jumnbled thoughts were focused on reaching someone she knew. After the experience with the villagers, she doubted anyone here would acknowledger her either. If no one had so far, it was unlikely they would if she talked to them. Poor children staggering from street to street in London was not uncommon, and that is what image Madeline had at the moment. A poor, dirty, abused child. No one would want to help just another meaningless soul.

Not noticing where she was, Madeline continued staggering forward, unaware of the carriage that was skidding to a halt just feet away from her. Her head darted up at the horses dashing toward her, her breath catching in her throat and eyes widening with shock. Shielding her head she waited for the imminent collision.

Opening her eyes a crack, Madeline could see the snouts of the black horses inches away from her own face. She gasped and tripped back, hitting the stone painfully. She cringed at the impact, her wrist pulsing with pain.

She looked up to see a man with a gray mustache and single monocle come rushing from the box seat of the sleek black carriage. "Good heavens, little girl! Are you alright?" he cried. Staring up, still slightly stunned, the small redhead once again found herself speechless. She realized she had walked onto the road, causing lines of traffic to pile up around her.

Dozens of drivers screaming unintelligibly at her, cynically eyeing her, looking down upon the girl who almost got killed. She was probably several ranks higher in social class than these adults, yet they still gave her sickened looks as if she were below them, as if she were a filthy rat. Everyone around her, stopping just to stare pitifully, covering their mouths in disgust, whispering amongst themselves about her pathetic self. All of them surrounding her – they hated her; they thought she was scum. Image after image of uncaring citizens encircling her, trapping her in her own globe of calamity. All she wanted to do was scream, scream and make them go away, leave her head.

Madeline was brought back to reality by a soft needle of water hitting her bruised cheek. Another thread of water, then another, came pelting down on her. She slowly brought her head up to meet the concerned eyes of the graying man in front of her. He looked down at her, not with hatred or disgust, but sympathy. His face began to be obscured by pellets of rain falling between them.

"Come, let me take you to a medical center," said the man clad in a butler's uniform. He took her hand, gently pulling Madeline to her feet. She followed his guide silently, the taunting figures around her no longer filling her head with insults as the rain drowned their voices out. She didn't need medical care; she didn't want to be helped by those adults who only ignored her pleas. She wanted to see her mother and father, her sisters and brother, the only people who truly love her.

Madeline stopped walking, the elderly man's gloved hand slipping out of hers. She stood, her damp orange bangs covering her empty expression. She jerked when she felt the same gentle touch on her arm.

"It's alright," he said softly, "You can trust me."

Madeline clenched her jaw, breaking their eye contact to droop her head. Water dripped from her face, whether they were tears or rain she didn't know, nor did she question the shivers that ran through her body.

"Home," she uttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Please!" she hicupped, more shudders quaking through her. "I-I just w-want to go home! Please just l-let me go home!"

Several moments passed, the falling rain and loud garbled voices ringing in her ears as silent sobs flowed from the girl.

"I understand. My name is Tanaka, and I am the head butler of the Phantomhive household. You can trust me. Please, at least wait in my carriage as I deal with the other drivers."

Madeline gazed teary-eyed at him, nodding lightly. She knew of the Phantomhives. She might not have wanted help from any of the adults who were looking down at her now, but this man was at least caring enough to offer her assistance. It would be incredibly foolish of her to reject a ride back to her home, no matter what her subconscious told her.

She was led in through the door of the glossy jet-black carriage, and sat on one side of the soft leather seats. She was left inside for what seemed like several minutes, watching the rain flow steadily outside the window. The only thought that ran through her mind repeated in unison with rhythm of the rain that came pelting down around her.

I want to go home, I need to go home, I want to go home, I need to go home.

Tanaka returned as the other carriages began maneuvering around her. He stepped in, water trickling in from outside. Sitting across from her, he reached up onto the cupboards hanging above them to retrieve a blanket to wrap around the shivering girl.

"Could you tell me what your name is?" he asked gently. Madeline clenched he fingers of her good hand around the soft fabric, keeping her gaze on her knees.

"…Madeline Lushire," she whispered. There was a small gasp from the butler, but she was expecting that reaction.

"A Lushire. I see. Your hair is certainly a give-away," he gestured towards her dripping curls of tangerine, "What are you doing so far away from home?"

Madeline still wouldn't make eye contact. She hadn't expected him to believe her, but a familiar family trait of hers was the rare orange hair. Biting her lip, she pondered what to tell him. Giving away any information about her kidnapping to the head butler of a powerful businessman would most likely bring the police and press into the situation. Of course they probably already were, but it would be risky to spill her heart out about what happened. No, she would keep her mouth shut until she was returned home to her family. Then they could decide what to share with the public. Madeline's mother always told her to watch what she said for the sake of the family reputation. Even in her blurry state of mind, she couldn't bear wasting any time explaining personal information to a stranger.

"Please just take me home," she whispered. Another long pause passed between the two before she heard Tanaka stand.

"Alright, Miss Lushire. I won't tell a soul of your absence from your mansion," he said as he left the carriage. Madeline kept her head down, silently thanking him for his promise of discreetness.

The ride was rather smooth, and the plush warmth of the blanket and softness of the leather seat lessened the aching all over Madeline's body. It was a comforting change from the roughness she had experienced over the past day. Her cheek laid flat against the cold glass window, watching the droplets hit the surface as the sun slowly set over the horizon. She could almost see her family members pass by every few minutes, but she was sane enough to know that she was hallucinating. She even drifted into unconsciousness a few times, but was fully jolted awake when a crack of thunder echoed around the carriage as they came to a stop.

The light rain had cumulated to a heavy downpour, complete with the occasional flash of lightening. The door opened beside her, and Madeline sat up quickly, holding the blanket she was enveloped in tightly.

"Miss Lushire, we have arrived at your manor," Tanaka said through the pitch black. "Would you care for me to accompany you to the door?"

"Yes," she released her grip on the blanket and stood up. "Please do."

Madeline hopped out of the carriage and into the chilling storm, cringing at the soreness all of her muscles were experiencing. She turned around to be met with the front of her house, the lights still on. Happiness and relief encased her, and a grin spread across her face. It was all over.

She didn't realize she had sprinted across the yard, stumbling up the stairs the reach the entrance. Never had she been so overjoyed to be at her home until she thought she would never return. Empty sobs rushed through her as she reached the door, all painful memories erased from her mind as hope layered over every other sense she had. Madeline was home; she was saved.

God had truly answered her prayers.

"Miss Lushire," the elderly man addressed her from behind. She turned back, watching him approach her in the darkness.

"Mister Tanaka," she sniveled, "Thank you. Thank you so much for bringing me home. I'm much obliged."

Though she couldn't see properly, Madeline could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I did nothing, Your Ladyship. You had never left here in the first place."

Her grin grew as she threw her arms around the butler, pulling back a second later. He really was going to pretend this occurrence never happened. "Of course. Goodbye, Mister Tanaka."

"Farewell, Miss Lushire," that being said, he disappeared into the storm once again, lost in the wave of rain.

Madeline threw open one of the heavy double doors, disregarding the fact that it was unlocked.

"Momma!" she shouted, running across the foyer. "Papa! I'm home!"

Only silence met her, so the girl skidded into the hallway to reach the family room. "Anne? Max! I'm back!"

She halted, glancing at an open door to her left. The doors weren't supposed to be open.

"Momma?" she said a bit quieter.

Everything stopped at that moment. Even time and the rain seemed to stand still as Madeline was faced with her entire family.

As still as the dead.

"Momma?" she whispered, taking a shaky step towards them. "Papa?"

She dropped to her knees, her head spinning at the intensity of the scene before her. Her father – a knife in his hand and dry blood dribbled down his face. Her mother – slumped down in her chair, cradling Madeline's baby sister Ellie. An arrow through both of them. Her big brother – sitting against the wall, grasping the arrow in his chest. And her twin sister – lying on the floor, suffering the same fate as the others, an arrow in her shoulder.

"Momma!" she cried, throwing her body onto her mothers lap, hugging her sister tightly. "No! No! Don't be dead, please!"

If Madeline had any tears left in her body, they would be flowing then. But she simply howled into the blood-stained fabric of her mother's dress, clinging to her back frantically, as if she could bring her back to life if she squeezed her tightly enough.

"Madeline…" said a soft voice behind her.

Her heart leapt, and she darted her head back to meet the eyes of her twin. "Anne!" she called, releasing her mother to fall beside her sister. "Anne, thank God you're alive!"

Madeline didn't dare touch her, for her chest heaved lowly and slowly, indicating that she could barely breath.

"What happened?" she cried.

"Don't…don't trust her…" she whispered, her breathing decreasing. "Betrayed… Madeline, run…"

"Anne, I'll go get help! Please, just stay alive a little longer!" she grabbed the other girl's cold hand, holding it gently between the two.

Anne lightly shook her head, her eyes struggling to stay open. "Won't make it… Madeline… I love you…"

Madeline watched on as her sister took her final breath, her eyelids falling and head sagging to the side.

"Anne?" she mouthed, the hand in her own slipping out and hitting the floor. "Anne! Speak to me, Anne!"

She buried her face in her sister's orange locks, nuzzling their faces together.

"Help!" she shouted, ignoring the intense pain in her wrist as she clung desperately to her sister's limp body. "Help! Somebody! Ta-Tanaka! Mister Tanaka!"

Madeline struggled to stand, stumbling through the door to the foyer, running across the room to the half-open front entrance.

"Mister Tanaka!" she called into the night, her voice barely reaching above the sound of the rain. She clambered down the steps, wavering against the heavy wind. "Mister Tanaka!"

The carriage was gone.

He abandoned her. They all abandoned her. Jim, Tanaka, her family. All of them. Was this a cruel joke? Was this punishment? Why did God have to give her hope just to crush it at the last moment? Madeline was wrong. God didn't help her through this. She was just a form of entertainment for him. Giving her a perfect life, only to have everything taken away from her in just one day. If the Lord truly loved her, then why did he have to give her so much pain? He didn't love her. Nobody did.

God was evil.

"_I hate you_!" she screamed at the top of her lungs into the sky, wishing to hit something.

She was on her own again. Every source of love and trust disappeared all in the blink of an eye. God stole it all away from her, just to get a good laugh.

"I hope you got it…" she whispered, treading forward into the dark night. Madeline knew what she had to do, though. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't stay inside and cradle her family's corpses until she starved to death. She wouldn't let God completely destroy her life; she was stronger than that. If anyone inside really were alive, then the only thing Madeline could do would be to find help for them. There was another manor a few miles away, maybe she could run over by morning. In the strong winds and pelting rain, however, it would be dangerous. But God only wanted that, she wouldn't let a storm slow her down.

Trotting forward again, she looked up through her thick ribbons of hair, staggering in her short-heeled boots. Even though every limb burned, and the rain was almost sharp enough to cut her, and the heavy dress she was carrying weighed her down and caused her to trip several times, Madeline wouldn't give God the satisfaction of defeat. She wouldn't be conquered by anyone.

Madeline wasn't sure if she was even on the road anymore, or if she was even heading in the right direction, but there were bound to be civilians eventually. That is, if she hadn't wandered into the forest.

Another flash of lightening illuminated her course, revealing the dirt path she was on. She was at least safe for now.

She kept a steady, slow pace for as long as she could, panting for air after only a few minutes. Dropping to the mud, she gasped fitfully, hugging her chest from the cold.

"I won't be defeated!" she sobbed, forcing herself to her feet again.

Madeline continued on, letting the occasional flicker of lightening guide her. It wasn't long before a dim glow shone in the distance. _It's the intersection, _she thought, hurrying to the lamppost beyond the trees. _That means the main road should be just around the corner!_

She suddenly skidded to a stop, staring at the figure in the light ahead of her. A man, attired in a trench coat and hat, walked steadily in the opposite direction. He looked incredibly suspicious, but Madeline's mind didn't process the severity of approaching him. Instead, she galloped over, resisting the pull of the wind.

"Mister!" she called, "Mister, please!" He waited, turning around to face her. He was much taller than her, but his face still looked like he was in his youth. Madeline wheezed heavily, bent over on her knees, before looking up to him again. "Please, help me! M-my family, th-they- I-I was kidnapped and- there was blood everywhere-" she blubbered incoherently, tugging desperately at his sleeve.

"_They're dead!" _ she shrieked, crying dryly as she sank to her knees. She could have sworn she heard a scoff, but shook off the thought.

He knelt down to her level, staring straight at her. Not down at her with sympathy, not up at her with forced respect, but with equality.

"I'll help you," he said. Madeline gaped up at him, lip quivering as she restrained any more sounds to emit from her. "If you make a deal with me."

. . .

Madeline brushed the bangs out of her face, twirling a long curl of hair between her fingers as she gazed at herself through the mirror. Although she aged since then, she never did anything with her hair besides trimming the ends every so often.

She hated her hair.

Reaching over to the far edge of the vanity, she lifted a small bottle of soap. She examined the label for a few seconds before hurling the vial across the room, having it shatter against the wall. Walking over, she lifted a large shard of glass and returned to the sink. Madeline impassively lifted it to eye level, pricking the tip of her finger against the translucent glass. Gathering her shimmering orange hair, she brought the shard to her head, cutting unevenly across the back.

The threads of tangerine fell to the floor, pooling around her feet. Madeline lifted her head again, inspecting her new image. Her hair stuck too her neck, barely standing off her scalp.

It was different.

She smiled at her reflection, admiring her work. A new hairstyle, a new start.

She glanced over her shoulder when she heard the sound of the door opening, blankly staring at her maid enter the bathroom.

"Madam, I'm here to run your ba-" she started, before gasping at her mistress. "Madam, your hair! What have you done?"

"Is there a problem with it, Grace?" she said, crossing her arms in defense.

"O-of course not, Your Ladyship! I'll just run the bath, now," she hurriedly responded, shutting the door behind her.

Madeline resumed her position at the mirror, eyes bright with joy.

"A new start."

* * *

_A/N: Oh. My. Gosh. IT'S FINALLY OVER, PEOPLE! Though it's rather quick to read, this chapter took me so long to write. T^T And yet it still feels really rushed and sloppy to me. Thank you for sticking with it, and being so very patient! You have no idea how much I've written in this past week . Anyways, more character pictures should come out, so watch out for my deviantart in case they do! And now that this chapter is finally over, writing should come quickly to me again. So again, thank you so much Mi-kun, Sempai, and all my other readers! =w= I haven't lost hope in this story yet._


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